It’s been awfully dour around here.
Fried Rodger… I think that’s the sort of thing that’s supposed to be considered poetic.
Just as long as they keep their fires away from the important things.
I think maybe it’s just a breakfast special down at a country diner.
They just need to stop the fires overall.
Great. I know it gets cold at night, but I’d rather not be kept warm by the Rodgers burning someplace else down.
One day they’ll singe their fingers.
Or the fire will spread somewhere they don’t want it to.
Does that mean all the buildings will make it through the night?