Bait

You go fishing, don't you?

Once in a great while. Just to get away from the data. Prove yourself still organic.

Well, I would. But I don't like fish. Not that I'd mind killing it for nothing if there weren't so many hungry people in the world.

I tried to picture him on his boat. Truing the rudder to his course. But all my mind could come up with was bait. Fish hooks draped in worms. Blind as the earth they were taken from. Sad Madonna's trapped inside the statues of their grief. The art of remorse lackadaisically pissing through her cracking skin.

You go fishing, don't you? One orgasm after the next.

Completely unaware of the hook.