I did my homework like any other day. My calculator by my side, my elbow fixating my head on the ground, my black and blue pens sitting around somewhere, two books in front of me, one of them the textbook, the other the exercise. Teddy Thompson on my iTunes, ghetto blasting from my ghetto blaster, folk and country music.
I do question one.
An ant shuffled into my exercise book. I flicked it out.
I do question two.
The ant still returns. I bemuse at its consistent idiocy for a moment, before flicking it away twice. Flicking it out of the book, flicking it under the bed.
I do question three.
The ant comes out. But I know the ant comes out. I flicked it back in.
I am done with my homework. I get up and stare at the floor. It isn't there anymore.
