As a general rule, I do not converse with foxes. Though our meetings are rare, and brief when they occur, I have never been able to shake the sense that foxes know the jig is up—but they refuse to let us in on it: either the jig itself or that there is a jig at all.
I really need to watch Fleabag again. (Also struggling with the noise and where and who I should be. But then I feel like I always am, sometimes I just notice it less.)
I really need to watch Fleabag again. (Also struggling with the noise and where and who I should be. But then I feel like I always am, sometimes I just notice it less.)