Dat manta ray

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Imagine you're walking down a street in your city, one you've been on many times before.  It's late at night and you've got a head full of chemicals, but you're not worried since there's no one else around and you're familiar with the route. Up ahead, on the far sidewalk, you make out a dark shape crumpled on the pavement.  A sense of dread creeps up your spine as you cautiously approach the mysterious figure; it doesn't look quite human.  With each step, you slowly realize that this is no human, no, this is some black hell-beast from the infernal depths of Neptune's kingdom.  Somehow, it slithered out of the inky abyss it calls home, made its way onto land, and now sits silently waiting for you, its next meal.  Each step brings you closer to your doom, but you are compelled to, as if the creature itself is commanding you to walk.  Just as your mind is about to shut down out of pure existential terror, you get a closer look, realize its a black leather glove that somebody dropped, and continue on your way.