Without your raybans the glare outside is blinding and you are barely out the doors before you collide heavily some idiot who's for some reason loitering under the awning. There's a tortured scream of rage followed by violent swearing and a flabby hand smacks you in the side of the head.
Your eyes adjust and you realize you've run into the purchaser of the Wheel of Poultry, who's now glaring at you in a towering rage and covering you in spit as he hurls invective from a distance of one foot. The Wheel of Poultry is trundling away downhill like a giant feathery... well, wheel. As you watch in consternation it hits a high curb and flips up into the air like a tiddly-wink, landing neatly on the back of a huge truck. The lights change and the truck driver moves off down the street, heading out of town. You can just make out faint letters on the side: Marcie's Long-Distance, All-Weather Haulage Co.
The Wheel of Poultry's owner grips your shirt in one grimy fist and hisses at you like a starved cobra.
"That cost me $250,000!"