"Think so?" his friend replied. They sat, as usual, on the veranda, gazing across the prairie. Coloured balloons were tied to a nearby fence.
Chester nodded. "I know so. I blame glo-bal warm-ing." Again, the words were dragged out. "The heat pumps up the air in these Wash-ing-ton po-lit-icians. Like those balloons on that fence."
"Got any ideas?" Leon asked.
Chester picked up his rifle and blew off a red and a blue balloon.
"Yup," he said.
Leon nodded, "Yup."
Tomorrow, they'd repeat the conversation, shoot more coloured balloons.