I hate moths.
I hate moths, and the things they stand for. They show up in untended places, wild places, dirty places, where things are decaying, where things are left to rot. They represent a transformation, I guess, but a transformation of evil, especially when compared to butterflies, which eat flowers. But moths are carnivores, and they are ugly-colored, and camouflaged because they have to hide, because they know they are not wanted. I hate moths almost as much as I hate horse flies. At least with horse flies, I know what they’re after: they’re after me, they’re honorable, mano a fly, my skin and their teeth. But moths, they aren’t after me, they’re after my property, my clothes, my food, my light source. Maybe I hate moths more than I hate black flies.