This morning in front of our place on way to work I stepped over a column of argentine ants (the omnipresent little black fuckers). I stopped, briefcase in hand, and reached down and stuck a finger gently in their midst. They swirled about it, confused. Once some had clambored aboard, I stood up and stared at my digit intently, hoping one would bite me, as I read late last night that they actually do have a tiny, if ineffectual, bite. They never bit. Then I happened to notice a neighbor staring at me…. The life of an amateur myrmecologist is a lonely and misunderstood one.