@Colophonscrawl @zac you show up to work the next day. Your boss compliments you on the bloody streaks coming out of your ears. You can't hear them. You can't hear anything anymore. The foxes scream in silent pantomime.
It is as things should be, and as a tear streaks down your face as you look towards an album you want to listen to, you look at the foxes, considering what they provided you.
It doesn't matter what you decide, they are foxes, and they are still there.