UFOs circle the country fairgrounds. They flash, strobe and terrify. They lower, three unknown objects, and sweep the hair of the tallest citizens, and spook the cattle, and everyone runs for their cars. UFOs whiz away into the sky.
A fortnight passes. UFOs circle the downtown shopping plaza. They flash, strobe, and terrify. Car alarms go off from their proximity, and eerie musical notes emanate from the fillings of old men. Electric doors rebel and remain closed, trapping shoppers to stare at the unknown. UFOs whiz away into the sky.
Another fortnight passes. UFOs circle over the city’s only annual night-time parade. They flash, strobe, and intrigue. Citizens duck for cover, and once under cover, argue about whether these strobes are a different color than last time, or how there are fewer this time. Everyone now clearly sees that they are saucers, sleek and well-illuminated. They are identified. The FOs whiz away into the sky and the parade resumes, if awkwardly.
Another fortnight passes, and the city congregates down by the docks, out in the open. They have blankets laid out and hotdogs grilled up, all in time for the light show. As it circles overhead, citizens hug each other a little tighter, or munch caramel corn, or try to snap ironic photos of themselves “holding” the saucers aloft. They’re welcome.