“’Kay, let’s scoot,” Snapshot said as he slid off the bench. He turned and instinctually paused as his hoof felt around for the fluffy cloud in front of him. After several swings of his hoof, he looked down at the pavement and his leg shot down to meet it. He tried to take several more steps to a similar result and once he had reached what one could consider a decent pace, he looked like a star graduate from the Ministry of Silly Trots. The changeling’s face burned with embarrassment inside and frustration outside. “Ugh, hold on,” he grumbled. Snapshot blurred as he launched into the sky with a thin trail of dust sucked from the brick pavement in his wake.

	In the air, he spotted his cloudhouse, along with a few other cloudbuilt structures—mostly weather outposts and other similarly small private properties. Out in the distance, he could pick out a member of the Guard patrolling at high altitude, gliding on a pair of wings even bigger and more developed than Snapshot’s. He turned back to Fillydelphia as it sprawled out before him. He had done this multiple times during his impromptu tour of the city and, like every other time, all the information he had taken in locked firmly into place. [i]I probably know this place better than some of the locals,[/i] he mused as he picked through the streets in his search for a restaurant with vacancy. 

	His eyes settled on a small bistro that, from the look of the chalkboard menu set out front, dealt chiefly in sandwiches. What caught his attention most, however, was the waiter. As the stallion cleaned one of the tables just behind the front windows of the restaurant, he paused and waved directly at Snapshot. Snapshot waved back with a big grin on his face. Despite the smile on the distant stallion’s face, Snapshot felt no radiant emotion, like several other ponies he had picked out in the crowded streets. Fellow changelings saw each other as, in a sense, unlit candles in a sea of flickering flames.

	Snapshot swooped back down to street level and expertly landed on the back of the bench with all four hooves one after the other in a straight line. With a big smile, he barked out, “They have sassafras bread sandwiches!” as he shook small wood chips off of his hooves. His expression quickly relaxed as he continued, “Some place called [i]S an’ S[/i] on Neighly Ave.”