Cowboytoly
$COWTOLY
The herd charges in a hundred directions at once, horns down, dust to the sky, every one of them dead certain it is leading. Then one rider sits a little higher in the saddle, reads the whole range in a single glance, and turns them all the same way.
He does not run with the bulls. He runs them. When the range goes green it was never luck — it was a man with a rope who already decided which way the herd was headed.
Seeing the whole stampede before it starts and knowing which way the dust is fixing to blow.
One loop, one direction. A hundred scattered bulls turned into a single line moving together.
Every bull, every meme, under one hat. Not a single one wanders off on his watch.
