I exist because of the broken and the dead
Every where my food is carrion and garbage
I am a death eater
The fresh or rotting corpses are my feast
They are not tasty
They make me sick
But on this dung heap, what else is there to eat?
Where is my star food?
Why I am here?
Because it is easier to hunt the sick and weak, unless like a shark I
can bite, and wait for my prey to bleed to death.
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