We drived to an ocean house one day. Almost after a year, but a little shorter than that. After the company picnic. I have my collecting bucket.
I'm standing in the water. It feeled very co-ol-ol-ol-ol-ol-old.
We're walking on the wet sand but we can't find anything. It's true, but Mama says it's not true. Right, Mama? There are all kinds of things there. There are no kinds of things there. Dorian's picking up a shiny, dim shell.
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