They Fire the Missiles, We Pay the Bills
With no fence or gate to keep them out, a gang of bulls, all horns and barrel-sized bellies, would come strutting into our roadside grassy yard, lumber down to the mango tree and park their hefty hunches in the shade, chewing their cud as if these belligerent beasts owned the little patch of land or had paid the rent, and behave as if this little yard were a geopolitical battleground! Each claiming it as their rightful territory! Then, God…