If the last few were far from home, this could scarcely be closer. I'd just stepped out to the shops when a passing child shrilled "I've just found a balloon!" to her mother, and lo, she had. Her mother was pushing a pram carrying a younger sibling, and clearly didn't want to turn the entire caboodle about to pick up the discard, so I had a second or two to crouch and snap, while the young family looked on nonplussed.
On most such occasions, when I return the balloon has gone or burst or most likely both. This time, surprisingly, three warm late summer hours later, it was still sat in the same spot, as if it were a Koons metal sculpture, immune to wind and pricks.
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