Tuesday goes back to her glass of water after a night’s sleep. She dreamed of ants, and sure enough, they still circle her glass in the morning. She pours her water in the sink, washing two ants down the drain and grimacing. She doesn’t like to kill them.
Responding to emails on her phone, Tuesday is aware of three Terro ant traps in her apartment. Who knows how many colonies march in and out of them as she CCs, BCCs, and deletes from her inbox. This happens twice a year at least. A colony or two starts and eventually seeks food in her kitchen or her bathroom, and she sets out poison for them. The ants form a trail and work begins. They bring drops of poison back to their colonies, spreading news of food. In hours, workers die around the openings of the traps, shriveling to jerky as more workers enter, take drops, and travel back. Within two days most will be dead.
Caught up with her emails, Tuesday boots up her work computer and watches a hummingbird feed outside her window. She likes to have her inbox down to zero unread when she officially logs on. She checks her phone’s news feed as a security screen loads on her laptop and the hummingbird clucks at the feeder. Its chest is red and blue or gray depending on the angle of light.
She washes them down the drain and doesn’t like to kill them.
Two story titles in her news feed outrage Tuesday and three end in ellipses, tempting her to tap the articles and read at least the rest of their headlines, maybe their summaries. She swipes dislike on four others and wonders when her algorithm will catch up to her taste.
Later in the shower she sees only a handful of ants, probably twelve, take a circuitous route through her tiles. She washes three down the drain and doesn’t like to kill them.