Bugs breathe armageddon.

Ape’s kitchen is growing refrigerators. Mine is growing insects. It’s really very sad. It gives me no hope for the future. I opened this brand new package of crisp bread. The pieces of bread were tightly packed together and I had to pull them out. Two pieces finally popped out, together with - and this is where sadness begins - two bugs. Two tiny, dark brown bugs, with nothing better to do than to spoil my breakfast experience with their appearance. I pulled out some more pieces of the crisp bread and looked in the package. There were at least two more bugs down there. And something that looked like bug poo. No eggs. I sighed deeply and considered burning down the whole kitchen.

The heavy sigh must’ve boosted my endorphin supply (oxygen is ace) and I suddenly found myself happily eating the bug-infested bread instead of burning down the house. I watched out for more bugs but saw none. Maybe I ate one or two. I hope they don’t thrive in stomachs, too. I later felt somewhat disgusted with myself and had to throw the rest of the bread away. I talked about it with christian boy next door, with whom I share cupboard. He quickly said that he had nothing old lying about in his part of the cupboard (I just know that I keep my onions cool, in the fridge, while he doesn’t). However, minutes later he tells me the very same thing happened to him in his old apartment. Yeah. I just need someone to blame that isn’t me.

I’m not a sensitive person. I ate bug bread. But it’s something about bugs in food that is so doomsday. Just like when we had a rat in the café in Paris. I can’t take it. And I can. But I don’t like it. I don’t like how they tell me that the world is going under and that vermin is finally going to win against humans. I feel so small.

Suddenly, I am the vermin.