Description
A cockroach crosses my kitchen as if carrying a secret message from the underground. One step is not enough; another, and the disgust of its exoskeleton splitting is surpassed only by the yellow spray of entrails that escape. The scene is still pulsing when another fly, which I imagine two minutes earlier rubbing its legs and licking dog feces on the corner of the street, makes an aerial connection over the remains of the cockroach and lands on the bread on the table.
