It's an oppressive August day in Atlanta's humidity. You're lying on the edge of Lake Abana in Grant Park, your feet submerged to your ankles in the water for minimal respite. A hat covers your face, blocking the sun above, and you've almost drifted off to sleep when a loud animalistic trumpeting shoots up your spine and rockets you upright. The water suddenly rises to your calves as you rub your eyes, trying to make sense of what you're seeing. Is that an elephant in the lake?

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