A pensive whistle rested in the mouth of a young boy garbed in orange. It was adjacent to another boy attached to the one in whom it was implanted. It noticed, this whistle, that the second boy was eyeing the crowd in the distance, and wondered why. A nervous grandmother’s breasts passed by the whistle, but it was not compelled to ogle them, for it had a preference for piccolos. This calm disposition allowed it to notice that above the breasts was a hidden object tucked beneath a head shawl, though the whistle didn’t find this especially remarkable. What this whistle would’ve thought remarkable, however — had it been able to see through the head of the boy in which it was wedged — was the serious man looking knowingly the other way, for he had the aspect of a whistle thief.
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