I could end this with a moral, as if this were a fable about animals, though no fables are really about animals.

All you have to do, I tell myself, is keep your mouth shut and look stupid. It shouldn't be that hard.

There is something reassuring about the toilets. Bodily functions at least remain democratic. Everybody shits.

We slept in what had once been the gymnasium.

If he wants to be an asshole, it's a free country. Millions before him have made the same life choice.

There is so much going on all over the world that it's impossible for one person to keep up. And I can't.

More and more I feel like a letter—deposited here, collected there. But a letter addressed to no one.