and I really hate that once I start sweating I can’t stop, and then I can’t think about anything else except for how I’m sweating.
And if you can’t pick what you do or think about, then maybe you aren’t really real, you know? Maybe I’m just a lie that I’m whispering to myself.”
“I can’t tell that you’re sweating at all, actually. But I bet that doesn’t help.” “Yeah, it doesn’t.”
I took my hand from his and wiped it on my jeans, then wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie.
I disgusted myself. I was revolting, but I couldn’t recoil from my self because I was stuck inside of it.
I thought about how the smell of your sweat isn’t from sweat itself, but from the bacteria that eat it.
I started telling Davis about this weird parasite, Diplostomum pseudospathaceum.
It matures in the eyes of fish, but can only reproduce inside the stomach of a bird.
Fish infected with immature parasites swim in deep water to make it harder for birds to spot,
but then, once the parasite is ready to mate, the infected fish suddenly start swimming close to the surface.
They start trying to get themselves eaten by a bird, basically, and eventually they succeed,
and the parasite that was authoring the story all along ends up exactly where it needs to be: in the belly of a bird.
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