pretending


The juvenile male approaches. He’s eyeing my food hungrily.


I imagine a different Ivan, my father’s son.


I grumble and swat and swagger. I beat my chest till the whole world hears.


Kinyani watches, and so do the others.


I move toward the young upstart, and he retreats.


Almost as if he believes I’m the silverback I’m pretending to be.

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