In the first week, we learned to use an assault rifle. They hung around our necks like a yoke, strapping us together like oxen as we marched two by two, pulling no load and ploughing no field and carrying empty weapons we were incapable of using.
Monkeys don’t speak English and the hairy little creatures with their tough young muscles swing around in their chairs, throwing excrement-coloured things and shrieking laughter.
There’s a dead ant in her cream cheese bagel, but she can’t find the energy to care. It’s ant season after all, sometimes these things can’t be helped. Extra protein, right? Other cultures eat ants all the time. The air is cold and her heart thrums in her chest with the weight of her To Dos, … Continue reading Ant Season