Insects Are Just Like You and Me Except Some of Them Have Wings Read Online Free

is fascinated by his blonde hair and the way his skin turns pink when he goes out in the sun. You count off the seconds with small taps of your hand, hear the telltale beep and open one eye to see Marcus staring in disbelief at the screen.
    “What the—” he says. You notice Rudra is smiling because whatever Marcus just said sounded exactly like otha , the Tamil word for fuck.
    “Otha,” says Rudra with a bright smile and Marcus turns to her.
    “Hey!” says Marcus.
    “Otha!” says Rudra.
    “Yeah, what the hell, eh?” he says pointing at the computer.
    “Otha nayee! 1 ” says Rudra. “Otha Marcus!”
    “Yeah, Marcus wants to know what the hell is going on with the computer!”
    “ Otha thevidiya payan! 2 ” she says, clapping her hands.
    “What the hell, eh?” says Marcus. “What the hell?”
    Rudra starts shouting “Otha!” repeatedly at the top of her lungs and has to be physically removed. Marcus doesn’t understand what has happened.
    “What’s the big deal? We were just—OH FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” says Marcus as the computer beeps quietly and reboots.
    We’ll Send You a Postcard When We Get There
     
    In an obscenely expensive coffee house near the heart of the city, Dr. J.J. is buying you and Marcus lattes because Marcus didn’t believe lattes existed in Chennai.
    “It’s alright,” says Marcus. “Not like the ones in New York. You should have a latte in New York.”
    “I’ll do that the next time I go there,” you say and Dr. J.J. smirks into his Madras filter coffee.
    “Guess who took off yesterday,” he says.
    “Rudra.”
    “Nope. Maggot Girl.”
    You remember she shuffled her feet and spat if you came too close. You wonder if she will get maggots again.
    “She had a name…,” you say and Marcus suddenly looks up from his latte.
    “Min..nie..Ray,” he says. “Mini Ray… man.”
    You think of what happens to broken girls whose eyes cannot focus and who pee on their feet. Marcus suddenly slams his hand down on the table.
    “It was Krishna. Mini Krishna.”
    Two days later news arrives that Maggot Girl has been found completely naked and completely dead by the side of the highway. It is only when you open her file that you remember what her name was.
    Inhale. Exhale.
     
    You are sitting in a corner, practicing how to breathe—inhale, exhale, inhale. It’s been one week since Rudra the Super Queen made her trimillionth escape. Minnal Reshma has been cremated and Marcus has been given a plastic replica of the Taj Mahal as a farewell present. They are beginning to fade like faces in a burning photograph and you think that maybe it’s the weight around here that makes people sink. You feel a thickening spread over your blood vessels, your lungs, your bones. You wish you could remember what Minnal’s hands looked like, whether her ears were pierced. You wish that maggots would stay out of people’s arms and that everyone knew how to close their mouths.
    You walk over to the window, stick your head out as far as you can and you inhale.
    You exhale.
    1 “Fucking dog!”
     
    2 “Fucking prostitute’s son!”
     



 
     

     
     
     
    We have been falling for two weeks, three days, seventeen hours and forty-seven minutes.
    “Keep your eyes peeled boys; eyes peeled!”
    The crew is very helpful. They keep our windows clean, point out things of interest, remind us to take out our cameras and say cheese. When we all say “Oh!” they always smile, like they completely understand us. So far everything has been real swell.
    “What’s the report, boys? What’s the report?”
    It’s the Captain who’s been driving my companion crazy. Initially, when the Captain said “Keep your eyes peeled boys,” my companion would smash his nose against the window so I couldn’t see a thing. When the Captain said “What’s the report?” his hand would shoot up and he would say “Oh-oh! Oh me! Pick me!” Initially he thought the Captain was a swell guy. Now the Captain makes him