index | archives | notes Wednesday, Jan. 28, 2009 4:04 p.m. << [ Red Light District ] >> They were running tours at the time. Me, on the phone playing it cool, and there are tours outside. Everything plastic like in a dollhouse, a television that doesn't work, a window big enough for other people to see inside, but too small for me to see out. The whole room white and bright and artificial, I am a ladybug in a shoebox. A woman stops outside, the officer that patted me down. "Look," she says, and points at me. "In there, she has a phone, and a television, and a window." Children press their faces against the window and flit by. I am in a fishbowl. I am on display. The last one stops, maybe ten, with a green puffy jacket and a green beanie. An entomologist. He stops and watches my wings flap against the pins. He smiles. I smile. Heartwarming, terrifying, some strange cross of the two. An ant under a magnifying glass. I burn. I am satisfied. A horrible warning. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org