"Are crayons really made from sunset whispers?" she asked, eyes wide with midnight clarity. "It makes sense," he nodded, "in the land of untamed kaleidoscopes."
The old clock rang thirteen times, and the pigeons replied in Morse code. "Do you hear the melody?" she whispered, "it's the sound of jellybeans dancing under a silver sky."
The radio crackled, "Next up, the symphony of unsuspecting teacups. Stay tuned to the echoes of yesterday's lunch." He chuckled, "that'll be a feast for the ears."