We were in a corner of the forest, shaking out a blanket, when a teeny dust mite tumbled down with a face that said “I’ve read too much”.

We go, “You’re one of those that lives in dust, right?” And it goes, “No, mate… I live in meaning. Am I a being… or am I just a consequence of your dead skin?” We say, “You’re both, pal.” And it goes, “And what if you vacuum me up?” We tell it, “Then you reincarnate in the vacuum bag, there’s a whole community in there.” And it finishes, “Ugh. Domestic capitalism.”

Magikito moral: even a dust mite spirals about its identity. If today you feel like “just another speck”, remember that a home is made from imperfections that pile up, not from filters.