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One lone maggot found its way to my counter top. We mused on its age. I checked my pockets for maggot brothers, sisters, mothers, daughters and fathers-in-law. Instead, I found a piece of gum, examined it closely and popped it in my mouth. The counter top maggot was not good enough for my trash can, and was deposited elsewhere. I don't know where as I did not care. I had ordered its removal by the man who had entered the room simultaneously and accidentally upon maggot discovery. He casually shrugged off my order and continued on his journey until I blocked his path and stood my ground. This is not a racial thing, but you are my slave and must do as I say. I did not put any thought into that comment until now.

I am alone in the light of one red candle. A mosquito lurks in the dark shadows of each corner in this four-walled room. I've covered much of my vulnerable flesh and am sweating bullets. One maggot's life ended and one mosquito's life begun, to avenge the death of the former. Aesop could write much about the two. I wonder what the lesson would be.

The mosquito lands on the pale skin of my inner elbow. I watch as he steadies himself, his legs thin like a beard whisker sliced lengthwise into fifths or sixths. Goosebumps appear in anticipation. Goosebumps on that one arm only. Why not a bilateral phenomenon? Bob once came up behind me unexpectedly and placed his fat hands on my shoulders, his fat, cock-like fingers kneading me in a gesture of friendship, goosebumps came up on my right arm, but not on my left. Don't leave me this way. Oh baby, don't leave me this way. Why not a bilateral phenomenon?

The mosquito is gone. Engorged, I imagine. It does not know that my blood is bad. I wonder what this will mean for the next inner elbow. This does not upset me. I pick up my fiddle and play.