If you eat human flesh you will be a human. I
hesitated to translate this, sensed tradition.
If, in the process of those standards, exploring hitherto
uncharted personal growth, caught in the
middle, approximately, or early the next morning, well,
I was living with every single human, I
was intimidated by my master, by a
series of renamed calamities. "Food," he replied.
"You people are chicken." We became apathetic.