Paul drools on his trench coat while glued to the morning news. A runaway toilet paper roll is terrorizing Main Street, baffling locals and stalling traffic. To Paul it is not just toilet paper, it is destiny calling. He licks the magnifying glass like a lollipop, muttering about clues, convinced this is the conspiracy he was born to crack. The world laughs at him, but Paul swears the world will soon eat its laughter, one sheet at a time.

He bolts from his apartment and into the street, trench coat flapping like a dirty cape. Cars honk, drivers scream, pedestrians scatter as Paul barrels forward, magnifying glass waving. The toilet paper skips along the asphalt like it has a mind of its own. Paul pants and howls, calling it the white serpent of doom. To him it is a criminal mastermind unraveling its escape. To everyone else, he looks like a lunatic chasing Charmin through traffic.

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  Evidence: fluttering paper trail
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  Suspect: the roll itself
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  Detective status: fully committed to nonsense

The toilet paper slithers into a garden. Paul drops to his knees, tongue out, magnifying glass wobbling as he follows the paper trail. Garden gnomes glare from their little thrones of dirt and plastic. To Paul they are witnesses, potential informants. He whispers promises of protection. But their silence curdles the air. Paul does not notice, blinded by the thrill of the chase. He is already rehearsing the speech he will give at the press conference.

In the alley the trap is sprung. The gnomes come alive, shrieking, hurling rolls like grenades. Paul stumbles as white sheets whip around him, binding him tighter with each step. Soon he is mummified in two-ply, gagging, stumbling, barely able to wheeze out a protest. He sways like a drunk scarecrow. The gnomes circle, cackling, chanting in a language made of flushes and giggles. He realizes too late he was not chasing toilet paper. The toilet paper was leading him to them.