This is where the trade camera meets the man. Trade camera meet the man; man meet the trade camera. Together they will stack bubbles on the back of Harriet, the talking elephant. Harriet likes bubbles on her back. She once made a flute out of cabbage, calling it a cabbage flute. She claims that, given just a little time, she can make anything out of rubbish and rank faith. Her outline is pure geometry, and her shadow likes to play dead in the rain. Once on a conference call, the whatever specialist told her that she had innocent circuitry and a most useful hazard beam originator. In France, she owned the most beautiful bookstore, but since she didn't speak French, she only sold picture books. Pop-up books without words have always been her favourite. When asked if she thought living in the world of humans might be dangerous, she replied: 'The tiring freeway begins to end, just as the failing brick connects to the assembly; doomed agents will sit on an obscene carpet and scratch behind their banal mountain'. She went on to explain that she herself cannot be touched by the evil of man, claiming that most of her trunk is not of this world. 'I am in this world, but not of it,' she emphatically stated in a recent interview. The trade camera and the man have now recorded a distinctive album. Its sophistication is like a shocked snack that has fainted down the stairs. Do they stack bubbles on it, you may ask. Are bubbles the chief component of the resonating sounds? Upstairs shoulders make the call to disconnect the custard from the pudding. The world is such an impressive chunk. In time, all ice will trek.
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