even the fervent conservationists and their heroic backers balk at the notion of saving the mosquito.
in the wettest summers when the rains fall and the puddles stagnate, the mosquitos promiscuity pervades the sticky night air. the fuckers are back again this year. i spit and militarize my demeanor like a bunch of coke sprinkling spring-break coeds have just wandered into my yard from their high density "you-can-sort-of-see-the-ocean-from-the-deck-if-you-get-on-my-shoulders (and take off your shirt)" vacation house. these summers make it easy to slip back into the vestigial tool shed, where due to the impossibility of ventilating the goddamn thing, we remember an original hunger that has since been drowned and reincarnated--saddled with unfortunate nuance. i dispatch mosquitos with glee and i'll tell you what--i like it more when they have gotten a taste. i get all operatic.