The Hyperactive Stranger At George St - A Narrative Poem

One day at a grocery shop,
I met a man selling buns,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some quins.

"Got any quins?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No quins here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely dresses,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some cresses."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally small,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call all,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit hyperactive.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty interactive.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the grocery shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."

"Buns, quins, you shall find.
Dresses, cresses, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to George St Market.

So to George St Market I decided to go,
In search of the quins I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling chips,
Tights in many shades.
There were even stalls selling hips
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather hyperactive
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all interactive.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some quins!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some dresses and buns.

"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the quins she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.

As I walked away I hard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?