a good font to plant

Yeah it's all connected. Somehow you're forced in, odd as it seems, and despite your adeptness at not becoming too involved. At first it appears innocuous enough: say, just a little sip here or there, comely quaffed with an agreeable foam, and then, with tiny lures, winky plastic bits, red maybe, akin to that firetruck you remembered loving so much as a kid, for instance, the one with cute googling eyes and an extension ladder to save all those kittens stuck-in-trees, all at once it happens and you're mesmerized, drawn in, and next, wouldn't you know, that whole connectivity bit, as if someone or something sent a hook right through the palm of yer fuckin' hand, followed with a wide hug, kind of similar to that which a warm friendly bear might offer, but instead it's simian, muscled like an overgrown man, hair matted and stringy, smelling of oilskins, and cruel in a sentient, primate way, an embrace minus the fondness, connecting you to your throat in the way western films always forget to explain, how crushingly awful it is to die by hanging.