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Sometimes I imagine a group of hoboes getting together and inventing a music machine.
It's a giant box with a big trumpet sticking out of one side and a crank that has a diameter so large that none of the hoboes can reach it when it's at its zenith. They have to jump up and push the crank to keep it going around, but they take turns because this is of course a very tiring enterprise. All of their labor, however, yields fruit as beautiful music starts flowing out of the trumpet accompanied by little dancing heliocolor notes. They all dance feverishly and sing along, making up words to go along with the music. Hobo-gibberish is quite beautiful. All goes wonderfully until Randal Mouth-Harp trips up and lands on the machine, knocking loose one of its very important lint-cogs.....
To be continued.
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