When she drinks, she drinks deeply. The average blood meal amounts to 2 1/2 times the original weight of the insect. Picture Audrey Hepburn sitting down to a steak dinner, getting up from the table weighing 380 pounds, then, for that matter, flying away.
– David Quammen (1985), "Sympathy for the Devil," in Natural Acts.

She took a long, lazy sip. It didn't hurt. Neither did it itch much, unlike the stabs of urban bloodsuckers that easily outstay their welcome, turning from scratches of pleasure into painful scabs. What lasted far longer than this trifle of a walk was a sense that you still care enough to pin me down where you think it matters most. I can bear the bite, but not the buzzing silence and piercing glances that follow this withdrawal from words that break off when they are barely skin deep. You leave me with a fever that shows no symptoms and a thirst to drink to your health and my sanity, just for while and only until we stumble again to sink our teeth in a meal of mock bewilderment and bemused frustration.
Recent Comments