You don't think it's, uh, you know?

So a weird thing happened on the way back from the movies last night. We went down to the Kabuki Theatre in Japan Town (five minutes from the apartment) to see Once, this cute little Irish film about a Dublin busker who falls for a girl from the Czech Republic who sells roses on the street. It was a lovely wee film; I recommend it.
But that is not the point of this story. The point is that on the way home we turned from Sutter Street into Presidio Street, just near the lot where Muni rests the city buses between shifts, and we passed this pale, long, rumpled lumpy thing lying in the road. It looked exactly like a body. It looked exactly like the body of a homeless person sleeping in a blanket in the middle lane.
"What was that?" I asked.
"I dunno. Whaddya think?" said Tim
"It doesn't look good," I said.
"No. Should we stop?"
"I think so."
"Yeah," said Tim, pulling over and parking.
A lady in a Beemer station wagon pulled up beside us. "Do you think that's, um, you know?" she asked, pointing back at the lump. "It's a bit short," she said, "for, uh, you know. But we should call someone." She pawed through her handbag and patted the passenger seat. "Do you have a phone?" she said. "I can't find mine."
"Have you got your phone on you?" Tim asked, turning towards me, possibly the least likely person in a three-block radius to have a cellphone, given my passionate loathing for them and the alacrity with which I lose mine and let the battery run down.
"Nup."
"I'll go have a look," said Tim, jumping out of the car. He walked back to the lump while the Beemer lady and I looked at each other and made worried faces.
"It looks a bit short for, uh, you know," she repeated.
"Yeah." I craned my neck to see Tim's reaction as he neared the lump. I thought I'd be able to sense if it was, uh, you know. But I couldn't. I twisted in my seat. I didn't think to remove my seat belt. It felt like 10 minutes, but it was probably two. Tim returned.
"Well?" I asked.
"I dunno. I called out, but nothing happened. There's a fire station up there." He pointed past the nose of our car, towards the corner. "I'm going to go tell them."
He took off in the dark; I watched until I couldn't see him any longer.
Two more cars passed the lump, slowed and stopped. Car doors opened. Three people gathered next to the lump. They yelled. They kicked the lump. It bounced into the air. They kicked as a group, three figures kicking in unison, and kicked it right to the curb.
Huh.
Meanwhile, Tim had returned from the fire station and jogged back to where the lump had been, to talk to the kickers. And then I heard a BLOOP emanating from the fire station. I turned and saw a red glow. BLOOP-BLOOP-GRURRRR. And then, like a bad joke, a fire engine eased out of the fire station, lights revolving, siren wailing, and drove a block towards us.
Beemer lady and I looked at each other. "I'm out of here," she said, accelerating towards the stoplight.
Tim and I watched the fire engine come to a stop near the kickers. BLOOP!
"It was a pillow," said Tim. "A big pillow."
"Nooo!" I said.
"Yeah."
And we laughed and laughed.