orange crested

“I’m glad you’re black again, Parasol. Now I can get rid of that White Elvis hairdoo. Back to the old self, ahh!” He settles back in his beach chair, taking in the waves.

“How about the ant? There’s always the ant to deal with. Ant,” Parasol by his side reinforces.

The Mann looks from the waves up to the mountains. “I’ll deal with that later.”

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