Sunshine, by the Bucket.
The place is the edge of Jackson Lake, in the shadow of the snow-capped Tetons. The time is dusk, early June. Pebbles crunch underfoot while tiny waves lap upon the shore. A young woman is inspired to burst into song:
I’ve got a bucket
Got a bucket full of sunshine
I’ve got a love
And I know that it’s all mine
Oh oh o-
The singer is interrupted with some new information. Not a bucket? A pocket, you say. How is that remotely interesting? The bucket was the best part of the song. Well I’m going to keep singing it my way. You know, I don’t care for your criticism.
Ok, now you’re just stifling my creativity. That’s just cold.