If only, by the mere accident of birth, you’d not brand me as your citizen, the way you brand your cattle. I will soon disperse from the herd you’ve raised, fed and exploited, and head to someplace better. We’re slightly different from cattle, you see? Not much, but slightly. I survive for that slightness. I hope you do too. But these days, you can’t rely much on hope. Your flock snickers, you know? Looking around desperately from the corner of the eye, for an instance to run you over. I thought you should know. I wish you well. And wait.