The boy opened the can of tomato soup flippantly, with an air of coup-de-gras.
The smell of sweet tomatoes and spices wafted luxuriously up his two nostrils.
He was an ugly boy. Everyone knew that, and reminded him of this fact constantly.
His only sole companion was his can of tomato soup.
He started to cry, tears of loneliness trailing paths through his grimy face.
His murky tears pooled in the bottom of his empty can of tomato soup, echoing with a sense of finality.
He was an empty shell of what could be, what could have been, much like the empty can of soup clutched in his spasmodically twitchy hand.
A man dropped a penny in his can, with a pitying look awash in his eyes.
His eyes were yellower than yellow.
They reminded him of a sunburst over the horizon, or a sunflower, on an isolated and desolate island.
But alas he was abandoned on the curb of a crude butchery the smell of rotting meat permeating the air.
One of the cows, not quite butchered, lurched, mooing unhappily.
The cows ear was invisible.
The boy took a piece of grass, held it primly in his hand, and dubbed the cow the Tomatoiest Cow Ever.
THE END