On Saturday it rained. On Sunday it threatened to, but didn't make good on it's promise. Instead impotent grey clouds sat sullenly, some might say ominously, in the sun blocked sky. On Monday it for lack of a better term: froged. Countless untold numbers of frogs perpetrated every facet of everyday life.
When the sun comes up, you go about your usual business not giving it a second thought. After all it's come to be expected, what you don't expect is to be greeted by a mountain of seething amphibians emanating from the base of your toilet bowl at 3 0'clock in the morning when all you wanted was to relieve the excess pressure brought on by your enlarged prostate. This occurrence is no less logical then having the sun pop into place each morning, something that Erhard tried to remind himself of as he contemplated the supernumerary frogs which had suddenly been injected into his life.
He knew that there had to be an explanation, there had to be a source and there had to be a reason that he felt an unbridled urge to go looking for his pipe.