i loved E.O. Wilson's fiction piece in the most recent issue of The New Yorker.
it reminded me of my childhood fascination with ants and ant colonies. i could sit for hours observing their primordial movement and organization, so beautiful... in fact, i could still do that today.
a live but weak bee overwhelmed by a group of ants at pedlar cafe, brooklyn. with the aroma of stumptown coffee disguising the sense of violence in progress
