I don't like going to zoos. I never have. The sight of the animals there – I cannot describe it. It haunts me, and amid all the children's laughter, shouts, exclamations, amid the clamor and joy accompanying expeditions there, warm days and ice cream and cotton candy, amid all that, I still feel a cold numbness settle in my heart and slowly spread. The creatures, one and all, stand at the edge of their cage, and pace, back and forth, back and forth, with that haunting and desperate rhythm. They do not view us with anger; they do not want to hurt us; they do not want revenge. In fact, they ignore us. All they want is – escape. And I cannot find any sort of entertainment in viewing this pitiful spectacle. I can only sympathize with them, when I go home and lock the door and begin to pace, myself, a caged animal, amid networks of work and commitments and relationships. Trapped in a house I could leave at any moment. Captured by society.

They are kept for entertainment.

And for what am I kept? I cannot say.