The woman with the thinning hair can’t get ahead. Three times she’s been passed over for promotions. Those promoted are always younger, confident men, chosen by the university director based on how he wishes he were. The woman with the thinning hair didn’t get any research grants, either, the men got those, too, but hey, the best man wins. Then come the salary reductions. And the woman with the thinning hair looks for side hustles. Nearly everyone who works as a driver, cleaner, or food preparer these days actually used to be an engineer or doctor. Was. Done. After getting sacked. The woman with the thinning hair found a job as a security guard in an isotope lab. And as an organ donor advisor. And as a dead animal remediator. Every day thousands of stray animals are rounded up in the city and taken to a remediation facility. Because, as mentioned, large parts of the city center are owned by the Chinese and the Chinese are disgusted by any dogs that aren’t poodles and bathed daily, this measure is a service for wealthy residents. The duty of the woman with the thinning hair is to ignite the incinerator after properly filling the oven and then monitor via fire-rated tempered glass the progress of the burn operation. Animals, which like humans are on the earth just to waste away their stupid lives, have been made into useful objects. For amusement or to be eaten. Anything that doesn’t fit is exterminated. People puzzle over whether or not animals have feelings. People who have no feelings beyond those that serve their own gratification think about such things and do experiments with mice. That they tickle. And watch in amazement when the mice laugh. So much for people. And mice.

In the first few weeks the woman with the thinning hair had nightmares where faces of the animals appeared and looked very similar to people in fatal distress. They looked like the faces of people who voluntarily donate organs and body parts, even things they could definitely still use—like legs. Who likes to walk around on one leg. But.

If she wouldn’t do it, someone else would have. When she sees the burned-out people sitting across from her to register, she wonders if it wouldn’t be more merciful to shove them into the oven like the stray animals.

WTF,

DON

Looks blankly at the woman with the thinning hair. How old is something like that? Fifty? Eighty?

“… we can offer generous financial concessions if we are able to reach an agreement here.” Says the woman with the thinning hair.

“For a kidney donation, which can save the life of an innocent person, we pay five hundred pounds, a retina earns you two hundred pounds, bone marrow one hundred pounds, a spleen—”

“Hang on,” Don interrupts. “I only have one spleen.”