In an attempt to get myself to write, I am going to purge whatever writing thoughts are floating about, no matter how old they are, and barfing them up for this blag-thing.
There is a bustling town not the size of a city, but larger than a village where more ordinary people live. In this town there is a street more descripted than another nondescript avenue or road, with bits of cobblestone peaking out beneath the cement. On this street there is a greengrocer frequented by the residents of the shops on this road, and the passers-by that walk up and down before returning to work. And at the back of the greengrocer behind the tins of sardines and aceptic containers is a little girl named Ben. Today she is looking more presentable than you or I, as she is freshly washed and her dress newly mended with a gawdy tie that a businessman was desperate to get rid of. Pulling her hair back with a kerchief, she smiles at the businessman's wife, clearly noticing that the tie on the dress was the same tie she gave to her husband for his birthday. The businessman's wife frowns, the wrinkles struggling to appear on her face, and thinks a nasty thought about the circumstances regarding this imp and her husband.
"Hi ma'am! The beets are on sale - 75 cents a pound!" Ben points to the sign cheerfully, then pins on a small nametag reading "Ug8". The businessman's wife widens her eyes defiantly at Ug8 the Imp and storms off, muttering horrible things that, in passing, do not sound like English words or phrases at all.