my visitors return
After the show, the spit-pebble children come back.
I display my impressive teeth. I splash in my filthy pool. I grunt and hoot. I eat and eat and eat some more.
The children pound their pathetic chests. They toss more pebbles.
“Slimy chimps,” I mutter. I throw a me-ball at them.
Sometimes I wish the glass were not there.