The Buffalo sits, overlooking his kingdom of sound. He used to cover thousands and thousands of miles - sniffing the air, moving towards the spot his mind leads him to believe is correct.
Now he's left with a 3x4 foot section of my desk. His world has now transformed to a world of sound. The eyes he's crafted so well and the nose that they wrote songs about is of no use to him now. Is this heaven or hell?
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