If you’re tempted to play with squirrels, just remember what Graham Rahal says…
“When you’re back with the squirrels, you’re bound to get your nuts cracked” 
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…
I haven’t driven in New York yet, so at least you know it wasn’t me
But if you did see someone doing donuts and drifting in a snowy parking lot, that was probably me
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Seems like an appropriate shitposting location:
So, you want to try squirrel hunting?
Smells are strongly associated with memories, but sounds can be as well. The invisible gnawing is a nostalgic trigger for me. I turn back into that 12-year-old boy carefully coursing the sound and searching every limb for a tremble. Breathing slows, and I reach a level of focus only dreamt of in my other endeavors. It’s all involuntary. Some of it a vestigial instinct, a primal and predatory skill passed down from my Pleistocene ancestors and before that, my reptilian ancestors. But much of it was learned through the decades and lots of my own failure. A little bit nature, a little bit nurture, but it’s who I am at the core.
Shards of hull tumbling through the leaves give away the squirrel’s location long before I see a bushy tail. I circle the tree. The purposeful movements of the squirrel shucking the hickory nut shimmy through the branches.
I bring the Henry .22 rifle to shoulder, settling the crosshairs on the squirrel’s head and squeeze my index finger. The rimfire pops and the squirrel tumbles through the branches. Through the morning, I’m able to collect three more squirrels. I’ve got four others in the freezer at home and that’s plenty for a dinner…
This prose is lit.