"Nothing," I replied.
He saddled up next to some cheese that fell from some fake-O Italian dish I cooked up a few days back. To him, he was in Belize at the Ritz. And Belize isn't even IN the Ritz. But what do roaches know?
"You look down."
"Yeah," I said, "I miss my history."
"Tell me about it," said Roach.
"My memories. I miss the way I remembered the people whom I don't even like now. I remember them when they were in history...I mean, the ones still alive."
"My kind gets sprayed and smashed. I feel for you, if it's anything like that. Jesus Christ, this is good cheese."
"I've had so many moments," I said, "just so much that happened...I can't remember any of it the way it really was. I just get little glimpses but then the doors close."
"Well, like I said. My kind gets sprayed and smashed."
"Yeah," I said to Roach. "We're not that different, you and me."
"People are not so bright, are they?" Roach said.
"No. Not so much." I replied.
"You know," said Roach, "This may be the best cheese I've ever had?"
"Yeah. This is probably the best. Because it's happening now. Well, now it's gone. Man, wasn't that something? I wish I could have been there with you for all of it. But my kind...well, like I said. My kind gets sprayed and smashed. Every crumb is the best thing, always, if you can ever be lucky enough to get one."