A light rain was falling as I mapped out the route. Four miles round trip to the proclaimed “center of the universe”.
Started by Scandinavian folklore, and characterized as being ferocious and ugly creatures that hid in the shadows and lived off human flesh, I went out to find the Fremont Troll.
The streets are a sweet smell of individual freedom, the pungent aroma of Rastafarian’s. Autumn’s colorful leaves drape the sidewalk as the rain starts to pick up.
Bright balloons defiantly sway and fly, letting their beauty brighten the day of those passerby’s.
I cross the Fremont bridge and crisscross quaint coffee shops and art galleries. People are scarce on an early weekend morning, only runners and those hidden under umbrellas. I take a turn up a side street and see a foreboding shadow looming ahead.
With each step closer I take, the eye of the troll never wavers, staying focused on my approach, as if deciding my fate..
“Fee Fie Foe Fum” 
The words rattle and hum as I slowly circle the great Troll. Alas, his benevolent nature allows me to live, and I graciously walk home, letting the rain soak me to the bone.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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