They crawl on my bags and on my folded clothes. I brush them off my arms and legs, I feel them on the back of my neck, in my hair. I see their tiny black blurry bodies after washing my face, when I open my eyes. A long, thin trail ends at the trash pail in the corner. They horde around the sink full of soiled dishes in the kitchen. Hundreds of moving insects frantically at work.
One ant I see on my bedding on the floor. He seems to be just wandering aimlessly about. A good number of them behave in this way. They seem to be outcasts exiled to the outside lands. Once they find food, however, the entire community descends on its discovery. Dirty dishes, trash, dandruff. That is all it takes, sometimes. My life as a wandering ant has begun.
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