chase escalates as a cute and quick fluffy bob of cotton dances just always out of reach, a tickle just beyond the sense, reach and preach, almost distraction with it’s own bent and agenda...they chase cute until a deft hop plunges cuteness into a turnt and wicked hole hiding behind the shadow of a twistedly heavy and morose tree.

“^^%Fo!!03,,,w3, fo((ow]]¿¿!]”
‘we should think’
‘a breath before’
“@DV3NT&R#!!!@”
‘of course!’
‘but we choose’
“t4h4i555 t4R33 looOOls w3irds”
‘exactly’
‘let’s think’