Like the final scene from "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly", there stood a man with his cone. His date with destiny had dawned. And yet he faced this uncertainty with determined resolve, a firm jaw, and clenched teeth chewing a black cheroot.
The appointed protector of all things plastic and conical awaited his fate as his steely eyes scanned the distant horizon. It would be only a matter of time before the cone destroyers rode into view across the vast, grassy plains. All he had to defend himself and his cone was his integrity, an MSA Marshal's tabard, his badge of office, his whistle and his torch.
But he had right on his side and the knowledge that the future of all cones lay in his hands. He knew that a future without cones was a future without hope for mankind. Chaos would rule.
How else to direct progress and ensure safety, to prevent erroneous access and to deny entrance to the unwary? To part the weary travellers either to left or right, or direct them onwards towards their goals and their fate?
He neither flinched nor wavered, but stood his ground. The cones' last hope for salvation.