The sirens were deafening as the police arrived, loud enough to cover my grunts of discomfort as the durians poked into my back. I knew I should have splurged and gotten the model that allows you to self-inflate a cushion for the back.
Nevertheless, I trudged on. The day was full of light and waves of heat washed up against me from the ground but the warmth that surrounded me at every turn wasn't able to soak into my bones and ease the coldness I felt there. With every step my back felt like it was being hammered by a spiked mace. I imagined my shirt slowly being soaked and saturated and the droplets leading a path for everyone to follow. Eventually, after much anguish, I found myself in front of the most ordinary house in the county. Not because it looked the same as all the other houses, though it did. No, it had a certain je ne sais quoi that caused it to fade into your subconscious, you know it's there, but if someone were to ask you to recall anything at all about it, it would appear blurry and nondescript in your mind's eye.