I sometimes eat lunch with a close friend who has but one child, a toddler aged 2. He likes to show me photographs.
"Here," he puffs, easing up beside me and trailing a wagon stacked with folders. "These are the shots from today's breakfast, just developed. Yesterday's load I had shipped straight to the restaurant."
Soon he may have to add a room to his house to store the excess footage. Or perhaps relocate to Hokkaido, where a wider land can conceivably hold more.
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