Style No. 54: Sound

Standard

The two boys’ orange t-shirts rustle in the gentle breeze. The shrill lament of a cheap plastic whistle cuts the air, drowning out the muted thump of an arm landing on small shoulders. Eyes fall quietly upon the growling mass in the distance while thoughts echo in the private chamber of a young mind.

Just then, an old woman wheezes by, groaning nervously while a secret object clangs mutedly beneath her headshawl. At the same time, behind them the rumble of strangeness trails a husky man who splashes his pealing gaze the other way, striking a reverberating blow on the gong of knowingness.

The sound of Belgium: a guttural squirt of mayonnaise on a crunchy bed of fries.

The sound of Belgium: a guttural squirt of mayonnaise on a crunchy bed of fries.

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