Last week a parasite took residence in my brain. He apologised for being a slow starter in life, and told me one day he’d do someone proud, because his life was a joke and he was tired of dragging around baggage that kept falling open and spilling the gore of his past decisions over everything. “A real milestone,” he said. I considered stabbing myself in the temple. The parasite asked me if I ever wondered about metaphysics, or how gravity worked. He suggested I get the eczema on my elbow looked at. He told me to visit my grandmother more often. In the end, just to shut the damn thing up, I told him to go ahead and eat my fucking brain.