Hm? Oh. Right.
There are very few things in the world powerful enough to render me speechless. When presented with such a talisman, all cogitative functions cease, and I become a blathering pile of linguistic mush. I fumble. I stutter. I sound like a damned idiot, which is not something I'm fond of, generally.
One of these such things is a nice mohawk, especially (but not limited to) a nice mohawk on, say, a handsom fellow who just so happens to have a taste in coffee that so mirrors my own personality on some deep and metaphorical level. I don't know what it is.
I think it might have been his smile. Or maybe the way he ordered his coffee? Either way ... me-yow!
Er ...ah... what was I saying again...? Oh. Right. Mohawk good. Coffee good. Public opinion bad.
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