Today on my break at work, conversation occurred. This rarely happens, but there’s a new page and I decided to try not being anti-social. Turn that leaf over and shake off all the creepy beetles. (Have I ever mentioned how careful I have to be around 595.44 when shelving Juvenile Nonfiction? Kids books about spiders have gigantic fucking pictures on their covers. If I can get through my entire career at the library without having to put that shelf in order I will be very relieved.)

Anyway, we were talking about vegetarianism and a page but not the new one mentioned something about Pickton feeding prostitutes to pigs. She said prostitutions, but we figured out what she meant. She’s from Moscow.

Another page, also not the new one, had never heard of Robert Pickton.

Sometimes I get weird notions in my head of being disconnected from the internet. “How much information do I really need?” But that kind of separation from being generally informed boggled my mind. I’m not angry, but bewildered how that could happen to a person.

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