reduced and recycled

I saw a pony about two weeks back at Eden in JB. It was a Sunday, and J needed a beer or two. We were done by the time I found myself standing at Eden’s foyer, waiting for J. I’d seen the pony earlier and I felt a little strange, seeing how parents were paying a ringgit so that their kids could clamber up the harness and seat themselves.

A man dressed in ratty blues, jeans and a cap would then lead the pony around the small bit of road in front of the foyer. The pony was the colour of dirty, threshed padi and the bit of rope attached to its muzzle was the same colour. I didn’t know horse-flesh, but it its mane looked well-groomed and combed.

Intermission, during which time night blotted out the day.

I was contemplating work for the next day, on the throne. I concluded that Survival was Nature’s ethic. The pony, therefore, deserved its fate. That left a bad taste in the mouth.