The Fly Whisperer

I've noticed lately that whenever I step outside for any length of time, spend some quiet, reflective moments with my pipe and paper, sitting alone on a park bench or on my patio, the flies inevitably find me.  I don't witness this uncanny fly-companionship occurring among others seated in my vicinity, whether strangers, or family.  Ever.  Unless there's something rotting -- or unbathed -- around.  No one else I know attracts the flies as well as I.

I wonder if this fly-phenomena happens because the flies are drawn by the rottenness inside me?  You know, the cancer.  Not of cells necessarily, but of spirit.  Can they smell it like canines do?  Perhaps detect the death composition with their insect dispositions?  Do their many-faceted eyes help them focus and go all high-powered-microscope on it?

Or am I just full of feces?  A veritable feast for flies?  Does everyone commune with flies eye to eye, as I do?


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