Poor possum guy. Picked you up this morning first thing, you being stiff and in the middle of the street, some red splattered around you. You all live here, we live here – but we’re not so good at sharing space. Your life ended too soon–nothing you or I could’ve done about it.
I’m so sorry. I’ll apologize for us – someone should, but no one does. None of us chooses to accept responsibility. But you’re still dead and I truly am sorry.