The smell of flavoured condoms hangs in the air. The light seems so bright, yellow, unnatural, like burning sodium. And I think of all the disgusting but fascinating things like teratomata, or supernumerary teeth. I wonder about vagina dentata, the myth, whether it’s really a myth. Most myths are real. I drift off to sleep thinking of growths with thick, black hair, fully-formed feet. Things that make my stomach turn. I think about the capacity for creating human life and how it would be so very misguided to inflict this perverted thing we call ‘life’ onto a child. A child who doesn’t know any better. A child who will grow only to suffer, in a world that serves only to punish. A world where the innocent are found guilty, and the guilty found innocent. A world so devoid of joy. A world where achievement is futile. And the smell of flavoured condoms hangs in the air.