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A tepid melaize rolled into the room, Sim Jestetates with the loading screen, the plastic sweats under her breast and over her shoulders. The room springs to action and concentration centres on the words of her lecturer, vibrating out of tin speakers. Her concentration quickly wains, the computer becomes something solid of cadmium and copper ablaze with electricity. It presses on her a well worn feeling; that despite all the sawdust shit and food scraps, she is still a man, privileged in her objects - the potatoes will be cut back to make way for new shoots the milky white flesh will shrivel in my oven - |
