Oh, genes, I don't know what happiness means.


A week spent pushing the limits. Too much alcohol. Too little sleep. Too many interactions. Too many emotions. Finally the play, the dance, the decay… the constant striving of people for sex… driven by the genetic coding deigned to cause every living species to procreate, and yet humans do it with less finesse than any other species. We get drunk and turn into a species massively inferior to all others and we focus on nothing other than the most attractive person in the room. I am guilty, I find myself in a room and taken by a magnificent specimen. I approach and talk for a few seconds but I don’t have the drive or competitiveness to compete with the other gorillas all looking to mate. I sit in the corner with a drink and watch the date dance – the queue of primates trying to break through – people oblivious to what they are doing or why but simply driven by primal instincts. I finish my drink, take my coat off the rack, and sneak silently out of the door before anyone can hear or see me.

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