I left a gorilla in Hamelin’s office tonight with the intention of checking the results on the security camera tomorrow morning (after a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood and well-crafted latté at my favorite local roaster). I don’t have anything against Hamelin, other than the fact that he micromanages me and I feel trapped in a corner wearing a straitjacket half the time. Okay, maybe I do have something against him. But back to the gorilla at hand here. I won’t bore you with the logistics of just how I managed to transplant a 350-pounder into a 27th-story corner office without sustaining so much as a scratch (though I know you’re impressed). I’d rather get down to the nitty gritty of my thought process. As far as I see it, our hirsute cousin will react to Hamelin’s plants that I’ve strategically strewn about as though a silverback counterpart had already been there. Could it possibly think–after coming to–that another gorilla had already taken liberties with the decor? And if so, would our friend (let’s just call it Chip) leave well-enough alone? Or would he want to contribute his own personal flair to what he thinks is a radical statement of primate interior decoration? Would a gorilla even contemplate matters on such an elevated level anyway? It’s doubtful, improbable and impractical to think such a phenomenon could exist, a magical realism that extends past the bounds of human domain and into the advanced psyche of a less-cerebral species. Anyway, you’d better not tell anyone I did this. There’s no way I’m going to be liable for any damages after the way old man Hamelin treated me. I figure I’m due a few grand for my troubles, even if it doesn’t present itself in the way of a manila envelope filled with hold card cash.

Hold card cash? Jesus, I need to get more sleep.

Whacking Weeds

Over the weekend, I whacked the weeds that had grown between the paver stones. These were the toughest weeds in the entire yard, and I felt terrible about beheading them. They didn’t do anything to me, aside from grow in an unfortunate space.

When I was finished, I began to sweep up the aftermath and saw an inch-long beetle lying on its back, dead. What attracted my attention to the insect was the pair of shiny flies checking out the scene of the crime. I had to look away, as large bugs (let alone dead ones) unnerve me.

I kept at the task of sweeping and threw away the yard waste. I went back over to the beetle to find ants walking all around it. It was at that precise moment that I thought to myself:

“These flies and ants must be confused about how such an enormous insect could meet such a sudden and violent end. This was an armored and seemingly-indestructible behemoth that had just walked among them a few minutes ago. Do they understand that there are greater forces around them that make their lives seem insignificant?”

Then I compared the insects to humans, and my brain nearly exploded.