I hate those plastic bags, once referred to as the "National Bird of Ireland" stuck like me Ariel, in a tree before freed by Prospero to do his bidding. As I circle the known Earth I feel sad those products will remain perhaps longer than my story, once referred to by Aldous Huxley lecture from his death bed, as William Shakespeare's actual "first play" and as they say "the play's the thing". Once they're in a tree they're like Charlie Brown's kite!
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