The hoglets are still grunting merrily among the urban detritus.

The hoglets are still grunting merrily among the urban detritus.

They're dangerous?

Yes.

Look for an adult boar.

You scan from left to right, checking the alley's tangled contours for a hint of hairy maternal rage. There is none.

Wrong. Spooky.

Scatter some boar kibble.

Gruntled noises come from the boar circle. Little tails wag.

REPULSIVE.

"Pspspsps, come to me little boars."

No interest from the hogolescents.

"The city should get rid of you for the purity of its essence, you know."

One of the boarlets looks at you with bulging lachrymose eyes.

As with all mammals, eyeball size is disproportionate to the skull that houses them, creating that adorable pleading expression.

Fun and nutritious.

Toss the pelota ball to the piglets.

This day may go down in history as the first strike in the great boar-human wars.

I just wanted to play catch!

They don't know what that is.

Good. Bring it.

A faint rumbling sensation in your feet. Somewhere, the babies are tattling.

Is the pelota ball cursed?

There is always a chance that anything could be true.

Find out, conduct experiments.

Howl with them again.

You throw your head back and oink. Your siblings join you, serenading the city once more with your low, rumbling voices.

"Wild kin! Heed not this human form, I am one of you!"

One of the piglets looks up from her snufflings with round, hairy interest.

"Yes, sister, see me!"

Her nostrils twitch into the breeze, catching your scent. She lowers her gaze, judging you wrong.

Give her your best oink.

You pull your tongue to the roof of your mouth and oink. You oink long, deep, building into a crescendo of primal hoggishness that none could deny.

The piggies raise their snouts and join you, each of you calling to the city. This is it, you're doing it, this is the howl of the boar.

Yes, gang. Gang, boar gang!

Come away. [Leave.]

The piggies chew happily as you depart.

You turn from the vacant alleyway.

The boar chorus oinks triumphantly for your departure.

You leave the boars to their devices.

Wild boar piglets snuffle through the city's trash, still wearing the stripes of babyhood like halitosis humbugs.

BEHOLD THE CLOVEN-HOOFED EFFECT OF URBAN ADMINISTRATIVE COLLAPSE.

Should I report them to an authority?

If you can find one. This is a street gang after all -- they're even wearing matching colours.

We're not fucking narcs.

But where there are boarlets, there are boars. An adult can be up to five-hundred pounds of bristled, pitiless hog. With tusks.

I'll recruit them. The fascists would never see it coming.

You didn't bring any pamphlets or manifestoes.

How are boars finding enough to eat in a city centre?

You underestimate the nutritional value of a well-trafficked alley. Plus, with noses that adorable there will always be kind citizens to leave out some kibble.