I walked through a park, bursts of hand-clapping kept exploding behind me. I finally identified a Tourette-ey man bobbing around in a suit, face clenched in concentration, his clapping was interspersed with lamp-post-tapping and tree-kissing.
I made straight for the big fig tree, clipped off a few of it's new sappy leaves and stuffed them down the front of my vest so that the figgy scent could waft around me for the rest of the day.
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