I hear the sound of a distant banjo being plucked away at... I turn on the dirt path and see an old dilapidated house with a quaint front porch and a little freckled boy who may or may not be a burn victim. He's got a banjo and a look of deep seeded hatred about him.
Bee-dee-lee-lee-lee-lee-lee...
Weird... I've never heard a banjo sound like impending death before...
I walk up to the little boy and ask him if he knows any Zepplin. He just stares and plucks away at the same ominous tune.
Bee-dee-lee-lee-lee-lee... LEE!
And then I wake up and realize moving day is now only nine days away.... bee-dee-lee-lee-lee-lee-wtf.
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