You savagely close the pizza box and stomp away, not running but moving with enough speed to quickly outdistance them. You hear a rustle of leaves beside you and look to see another. One more emerges as you're looking, but there are more sounds to your other side. Before you know it, a whole host of homeless horrors is closing on you from all angles, drooling, staggering, hungry for your pizza. They're slow, but you're surrounded, and somehow their numbers almost instantly became overwhelming. They're quickly on top of you, trampling you, ripping into your pizza...
You close your eyes and grit your teeth through the frenzy. The experience is horrifying and painful, but short. The hobos are gone shortly after the pizza, leaving only the shredded box behind.
The worst of it is what they've made of you. You're lost out here with no car, no food, and no idea where you are. You're not even sure from which way you entered. Now you've been soundly thrashed and kicked about in the dirt. The hobos have done more than rob you; they've made you one of them. Despite everything, there's only one thing you really want.
"P...piz...p-p-pizzaaaaa-a-a..."