my visitors return


After the show, the spit-pebble children come back.


I display my impressive teeth. I splash in my filthy pool. I grunt and hoot. I eat and eat and eat some more.


The children pound their pathetic chests. They toss more pebbles.


“Slimy chimps,” I mutter. I throw a me-ball at them.


Sometimes I wish the glass were not there.

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