500ml volumetric flask frog calls

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A noted writer and friend whom I respect surprised me with a slightly profane illusion in an email today. To quote him directly: "for most of April I'll be bouncing around like a fart in a bottle."

I see no beginning and no end, except in lives soon to be born and those lost.

Any insight would be appreciated.

Prelude no 6 in B minor ~ Chopin

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