Inundated with liberty, I talk thus in a mocking form. It’s well after the game. My face — like yours — sports layers of sleep relief, realizing exponents of our wildest ambitions.

I thought as a lyricist you’d follow these leftover radiant forms — and soberly, even liberally, interact with them in unitary joy (if you can still breathe) —

I’ve made it normal getting to this next point in our ongoing bear bar repartee.