The Big City
When Neville caught the bus in the small town of Rantoul, Illinois all was as predicted. The bus had the expected eight wheels. On board the bus, Count Basey’s band played on the diesel-powered television as it chugged out the same old fumes. A diesel-powered cellular phone was available, puffing out smoke as it idled, waiting for the next user. Everything was normal and familiar.
In the massive metropolis of Chicago, things got weird. Few people drove cars. They drove ambulators. The machines galloped on four legs, careening along like giant horses and leaping over the far slower, eight-legged taxis.
Neville wondered at all this as he bought coffee at a familiar mobile coffeehouse. At least that was normal!
And then the coffeehouse sprouted ten legs and walked away.
Neville barely held onto his coffee cup.
Eventually, he found the Grand Palace Hotel where a room was waiting on the 27th floor. Neville asked where the elevator was.
“Elevator?” smirked the valet. He pointed to an eight-legged taxi. As Neville watched in shock, the taxi’s “feet” found purchase in holes drilled into the hotel sides. It joined forty other taxis climbing vertically up the hotel’s exterior.
Neville shuddered. “Got a staircase?”
I’m familiar with steampunk, but the “dieselpunk” genre is new to me. I had to look it up. Turns out the hysterically funny “Iron Sky” movie I watched probably qualifies as dieselpunk. This is my first wild stab at the genre. Here’s how it is defined: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dieselpunk