Ska, Scam, Scamp, Scamper

It was happening again. Every time he started strumming his guitar, his bass would start to walk, and his eyebrows would sneak away.

The bass walking made sense. It did that every day. Without it, he couldn’t Ska at all. But he never understood his eyebrows. They always came back a few hours later, seemingly contented and full of glitter.

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