“I despise anyone who hunts,” he glared at the LandRovers filled with men and guns. “You don’t eat meat?” I asked. “Course I do.” “Somebody has to kill the sentient beings you eat.” “Sentient! Animals can’t think, they react,” my companion grunted. “So eating them’s not an issue” “But hunting them is?” “Hunting’s cruel, the fear of the chase….” “There’s the fear of being transported to an abattoir, of waiting your turn, the smell of blood, watching your friends being kill

You walked from shade to shade because your skin crisps under direct sunlight, even greengrocers’ brown paper bags crackle, so dry is the air. From 10am until six in the evening, the pounding heat determines which activities you chose. This is August in Southern France, 2019. Imagine that this could, probably will become Southern England, 2025. You may laugh, but things are already shifting in this direction in countless little ways. Every aspect of our complex interaction wi