They file past all day long: twenty-eight hours out of every thirty-six the place is open to the public.
They’re big, squat creatures, bulging with muscles, and they seem to cluster in family groups. I never see one or two at a time, only eight to sixteen or even twenty, all together, talking, holding ‘hands’, discussing me. I’ve given up trying to talk to them. The staff doesn’t even talk to me. I’m sure they know I’m sapient, it’s just that they don’t care.
I don’t know what smells worse: whatever that is in the next pen or the visitors.
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