Look, I like Ramblers and fields of wildflowers and arty stacks of boxes with kicky graphic images of arrows and flowers and whatevers on them as much as anyone, but why do all the women standing around here feel like members of some creepy cult?
Maybe there’s too man pop culture tropes about being in remote fields with cult members standing and staring at you just prior to some strange ceremony that finds you naked and bound with a Chuck E Cheese mask on your head, facing dozens of True Believers with knives. Is that what Rambler was going for here?
That’s a lovely lady, but the strange calm intensity of her stare is making me uncomfortable. I’d like to leave. Now. Please. I’d like to leave now. People are expecting me. I need to go. I won’t get in the Rambler. I’m leaving, thanks.