Maybe, tomorrow, a little girl on a red bike will ride into a town of ignoramuses and dullards. Perhaps, she will climb up onto the roof of one of the many sterile, lifeless houses, and share a sweet song with the townsfolk whose knowledge of music doesn’t extend beyond the Church door.

As the world keeps turning, and it’s builders keep building, it is possible that only a short time from now, the inexplicably yawn-inducing mayor of that town will receive a letter, (maybe even with a brightly coloured letterhead!) notifying him of the impending destruction of the town to make way for a speedway. There is a chance everyone might cry.

Or, potentially, hundreds of years from now, a status-quo-breakingly interesting horde of extra-terrestrials may utilise the town as an Earth base, consuming the townsfolk with magnetic tentacles and using the perpetually unnused, beige coloured Church meeting room as a headquarters from which to plan total domination of the planet.

Maybe.

But then again…