Nicely skipping on hot soles the basket face man gives the flavor. Stone ball rattles in the hollow hat import a sweetly fermented sense of domesticity to the interior of the dwelling. The bread he ate fuels his toe slapping frolic.
The expensive flowers on his britches, the brown striped ribbons around his wrists, and the glittery cloud of ornamental vapors about his comely head bring us a gladness unmatched.
To be with him, to eat of his peas and lie with his pregnant sows, is to press one's chafed navel against the flesh of an imagined fruit, like an emoji invented by a child, badly interpreted by a sophisticated artificial intelligence.