Living in a vacuum is a a curious phenomenon.

Words and phrases, a common means of communication between beings, feels foreign, disjointed, like stepping off a moving sidewalk with every step.

Yet, one cannot help oneself.

One must live, take nourishment from one’s surroundings.

One participates in odd rituals.  The neighbour down the street feeds the wild raccoons, mice, rats, rabbits, birds and insects.  One finds oneself killing them as they pass across one’s patch of planetary surface.

Not all of them.  The birds get by unscathed.  So do many of the insects.

But the mice, rats, and raccoons are fair game, their meat a little gamey.

One must live, collecting labour/investment credits for participation in the local barter system knows as the economy.

Thus, one decides to create a Kickstarter account, selling genuine Alabama-based wildlife meat as a means to stop burning down Brazilian rain forests for cow meat, adding certificates of authenticity “Killed in Alabama” with each sale, throwing in extras at higher donation points — a photo book documenting places where the wildlife called home before meeting an untimely end; a sticker stating “Rats taste better from Alabama” or “Mice — eat a heart of Dixie to save the rain forest”; and an ultimate offer for a free tour of local wildlife hangouts, trails and traps, with tips on catching critters and a chance to appear in the straight-to-YouTube series, “If it ain’t meat from Bama, it ain’t worth eatin’.”

One chooses one’s life path without using a compass, moral or magnetic.

Can one vacuum in a vacuum?