aftertaste raze he sees the bag and the misshapen twig twitching in my mouth and asks if we're going around collecting cigarette butts. no, we tell him. these are walnuts. something like confusion laced with contempt clouds his face. you brought those here? you didn't pick them up off the ground? no, we say. we brought them from home. that's nice, he says, when what he wants to say is how fucked up he thinks it is that any domesticated beast would want to help a smaller animal survive in the wild. i guess you'd have to know what it's like to live without love in most of the places it was promised to you. then you'd understand why a tiny hand reaching out to touch yours can mean more than any words you were given by people who didn't mean them even when they thought they liked the way they tasted. 240221 what's it to you? who go blather from