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Justin Turner, Chris Baran, Pierce Codina, Dustin Monk The marching band paraded through trash-flooded streets with much loud clanging and rat-a-tat-tat. Pierce said, banging on a bass drum, “I want to boom boom boom like this a long time,” and Chris answered yes by playing his guitar like a tambourine. Meanwhile, in the faraway back—a kind of bleacher seats—Justin and Dustin cried, lung-topped, “Sirs, singers! Here, sirs!” Amid the caroming trombones and tubas, crashing of cymbals and gnashing of clarinets, Pierce and Chris heard the distant wail songs and boomed and jangled to the meeting place in the middle of the marching band. Justin and Dustin sang ooh wah ooh wah eee while many girls whirled batons and this was their first song. The singers racked brains, wondering, “How should we call each other?” And Pierce saw a glint in the garbage-blown street and thought: this is how we call each other. What did he have in his hands? It was a tin can.. “No,” said Chris, “not just any tin can. A tin tin can.” User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply.