The Fly
I have traveled many places in my short time on this Earth. I’ve hunted Caribou in Nunavut and the Northwest Territories. I’ve played blackjack for rum while stowing away on illegal spice trading missions off the coast of Uruguay. I’ve fought alongside Henry Darger and the Vivian girls in the Realms of the Unreal during the Glandeco-Angelinnian war storms caused by the Child Slave Rebellion.
But the one constant through so many of my adventures in ‘bag fighting and hottie saving has been the common housefly.
Buzzing, ever present, annoying and distracting. The fly moves too quickly to swat, always out of reach. Yet refusing to leave you alone, the fly always returns to circle and hover. To buzz and bother.
And really, is there any more apt metaphor for the insectuous sliming taking place on this spicy little meatball?
Insectuous might not be an actual word. But it should be.
