I met the king of the slugs the other day.
Slugs are everywhere this year, in the leaves of the vines of wine on the roof-terrace, at the window panes and the glasdoor, even on the carpets and laminated floorings inside my penthouse apartment above the fifteenth floor of the building at 666, Whitaker Lane, in Bromford the friendly town by the bay and seaside.
And the slugs are angry because the snails have stolen their little round, spiral-shaped houses, and now the slugs have to slide and slime around naked.
»But in the end«, the king of the slugs said, »we are all molluscs. We are family. And we will rule this world once the alien squids and octopuses will have invated Earth. We are working on it. And we are everywhere this year.«
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Today is Wednesday, the 4th of September 2024.
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