The leech is cute, almost, creeping its way along my hand like an inchworm. I pinch it and pull it off before it can clamp. Problem is, it begins to look for blood on the finger I’ve pinched it off with. It is the problem of double-sided tape, of unduly sticky things everywhere. I can get it off only with a tissue, within which I give it a good squeeze. I throw it in my trash can.
Damn hardy, the leech, living in my bag of wet clothes since the end of the hash the day before. I thought I was safe when we left the grounds. Guess not. I go on with my life.
Then I realize it may not be not dead, and I should probably empty out my trash can just in case. I go over to take the trash outside. Already mounting the wadded tissues is the leech, inching its way to an escape. I look at it with a pissed-off admiration. He wasted no time getting back on the horse. But how much credit can you really give a creature without a brain?
(sunrise) Taiwan (sunset) 