San Francisco’s streetcars still drew tourists to ride the ancient vehicles. An amazing mix of cultures also defined the city. On Geary Street alone one could explore the world’s selection of different ethnic foods.
Some ascribed the city’s “worldly success” to it being a sanctuary city. Nevertheless, some were still unhappy with the influx of foreigners.
The annual Parade of Aliens moved past the streetcar turnabout at Powell street. Burly Hispanic men strutted in traditional Aztec attire. Dancers swished to Brazilian beats.
And then, a Trubuti hovercraft drifted by, held aloft by the counter-gravity fields that revolutionized the city’s mass transport. The aliens waved four arms each to the cheering crowd. Newcomers followed. The Apti’Comarn, snail-like pseudo-pods waving from their massive shells, cruised by in their sub-orbital landers.
Watching nearby, Bob sneered, “Frickin’ snails! Who do they think they are?”
“They’re not regular guys like us.” complained Vic. The Colombian-Thai-African-Portuguese-Mongolian-American transsexual spat angrily.
“Seriously,” agreed Bob. He brushed his Mantis-like forelimb through his moth’s antennae. “They should leave the city to us natives!”
Written for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers: https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/05/29/fffaw-challenge-week-of-may-30-2017/