She pulls her head up from the pool in time to see the others lining up by the door.
Hearing the giant coming, she scrambles up over the edge of the pool, down the slick granite steps and over to the rest of the group.
The giant comes into view. In its hand is a stick, which it taps on the ground. They know what’s coming next.
Suddenly the gate swings open and they are sprinting through the bluster of the open air. They don’t wait for the giant, they all knew where they’re going, he has spent weeks training them.
They stop in front of the massive reflective slabs. She vainly eyes her reflection, cocking her head to the side to get a better look. Then giant presses a button, the slabs slide open and in they go to a cavernous room.
He follows behind them and presses another button. The slabs close again and the whole room starts to shake.
After a few moments, the room stops shaking and the slabs slide open, a row of giants on either side of them. Her knees wobble a little.
They start running again.
Quacking the whole way to the fountain.
This story is, of course, about the Peabody Ducks. For seventy plus years, the ducks have been ushered down from their rooftop pen to the fountain in the lobby every day at 11am, then back up again at 5pm. If there’s a better example of the surreal sort of magic that is Memphis, I don’t know what it is.