It's two days after Christmas and you're walking home after work. A bunch of dried, discarded Christmas trees line the block. Suddenly, you see someone who appears to be crying, carrying some of these dried trees into the middle of the street and lighting them on fire, saying, "Why, Jim, why did you do it?" They don't seem dangerous; they seem brokenhearted, and as they stand back and admire the blaze, you approach the crying person.
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