In the posh part of downtown we sat on an immaculately manicured park lawn eating plums. Down near Taran’s feet sat a gleaming white pit in the dark green grass.
Mommy: Really? Taran? You’re going to throw your pit on the lawn?
Taran: [Smiling serenely and looking into the future.] …then a plum tree will grow and people will come to dance around it. Plums will fall from the tree into their open mouths.
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