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.
I see the maple-walnut cookies I ate last night, stretching across my ribs in a layer of fat which then pools in the pouch of my lower abdomen, collecting in the hips that swell over the band of the underwear that I bought during a time when I was thinner.
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.
He leaves food lying around now, and that’s great great but he doesn’t as much anymore with the petting or the playing.