This little cantaloupe trumpets his bird beak, swept up in a tornado of imagination. His dog, vice-gripping him with his arm, cast his gaze at the gaggle of pilgrims ahead, their hearts ablaze with religion. Then this clucky hen pecks by, a shrouded emptiness hidden atop her cranial grotto. In the midst of all that, behind them a lone wolf with a trick up his sleeve screw-eyes something the other way.
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