You split your time between two homes: a culvert at the end of a line of fast food chains where you can sustenance from the illegally dumped grease flowing by you, and the workman access to a cinema industrial popcorn machine where you similarly consume the false butter and industrial cleaners stored therein.

We would dispatch agents to your location but they are frightened. We once saw you crack through a cement slab to nibble at the roots growing beneath, on closer inspection it was rebar.

We don’t know what you are and are terrified of knowing.