Sitting in the library yesterday, wrestling with the Kantian sublime, something rather odd occurred. The flies in the library are drawn to the fluorescent lighting, throwing themselves against the hot bulbs. This makes them incredible drowsy. One fell from the ceiling, tumbled off my head and landed on the desk. I put my hand next to him (it? her?) and he crawled over my finger. I shook my hand but he stayed rooted to the spot. What a strange sight: a black fly walking over my hand in a docile and pet-like fashion. After some seconds, he gathered the strength to fly away.
ps. Vincent Price is a dude.
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