//COMMUNICATIONS
Saturday August 8, 2009, 23:48
I come across a large insect struggling on the sidewalk, about an inch
long, maybe a bit bigger. It's a cockroach, and two of it's back legs
are smashed. It's a hot, muggy August night and the creature must have
wandered out from the safety of the cozy drain it's been living in for
the past decade, only to be partially mashed by an errant shoe or
bicycle tire. The thing is trying to maneuver itself, struggling over
and over to move it's oozing legs and walk, but it makes no progress,
and it's antennae twirl in agitation. I watch it for a moment and I
wonder if it is in pain? If it is afraid? I know it can't have long to
live in this condition, smashed up like it is. It must have a nervous
system. Of course it does. Of course it has some sense of distress. So
that's it, down comes my shoe and I smash it as hard as I
can. There, it's done.
I look up and see that I am near a
ritzy club with all sorts of slinky girls hanging around outside the
entrance. They wear satin hot pants and silky dresses paired with high
high heels, and I feel so different from them. Gold Diggers; they're
the future Wives of America, the future Mothers of America, laughing
loudly as they're gently petted, prodded and shepherded around by their
boyfriends.
And I'm the Cockroach Mercy Killer.
My
lungs are in pain tonight and I'm not so sure this bronchitis is going
to go away on it's own after all. Monday I will go see a doctor if my
condition has not improved; walking Pneumonia is not something I want
to deal with.
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