We are monkeys at the end of the day. Oohing and aahing, competitive and looking over our shoulders, afraid of our own shadows and smiling nervously at the unknown.

He thought about this as he looked at the hair on his arms. Rubbing his fingers across his forearm back and forth he was lost in thought. He imagined the Serengeti a thousand years ago with a tuft of trees off in the distance. He imagined the silence, the danger, the excitement. But he knew it would have been exciting for his tree-bound ancestors. They probably didn’t experience excitement but only fear and anger: the same thing in difference guises.

He rubbed the hair on his forearms again and imagined himself in the Serengeti. It was different now. And although he had never been he knew it would be different now. Probably overrun with grimy-clad people and garbage. The jungles, he imagined, were gone now. Nature, he imagined, had been burned back for the sake of prostitution and progress. And still, and still were were only apes looking over our shoulders and nervously smiling, afraid of our own shadows.

He rubbed the hair on his forearms and thought about the cost of boredom.