don't look at me, I'm indiscrete (you're sharp all right)

I found a desiccated yellow jacket in amongst my extra socks and delicate things from last legends. Little fucker died waiting for me to push my blind, trusting fingers down into the ambush. I felt horrified and wonderful. It felt like a victory, but what did I even do to my notorious enemy if not just lazily put off emptying a small bag at the bottom of a box? All of my greatest incidents of viciousness have been accidental. Maybe everyone is secretly like this.

I feel weird and cold and aggressive tonight, not unlike how I've felt all week.