The damned rodent still does not speak. One might as well attach fish hooks to our pupils and connect those hooks with fishing line. At least then it will be established that we have one another, firmly fixed in the corners of our eyes, and the ocular evidence will pop from their sockets each time we pass and the line pulls taut.
Why he looks at an old dam like me I'll never know.
Why do I look at him? Imagine the finer points of these four men on a man maybe, MAYBE twenty-eight.
Perhaps it is best that there is no language. What glorious gem of rodentia would continue to look once a dam's mess of hotness is exposed?
Oh, but this buck has me bothered.