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Today, the pesticide man Jerrod Schwarz

Today, the pesticide man finds the victims of someone’s first BB gun— shattered cologne bottle, a blank CD’s craggy edges, the splatter of cheap coffee from a cheaper cup. His boots crunch the glass and plastic deep into the soil pine saplings fight over. A thousand bull ants create the colony’s first counter culture, exfoliate their segments in dried creamer, while millions more writhe around branches that have already blocked out the sun.

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