The scientist on the radio said that humans will survive, and, at first, I was buoyed, but she meant only some of us, the ones living in tunnels, eating crickets to survive when the rest had died from mass starvation after droughts lasted longer and seas rose faster and wars killed bigger because everyone wanted what little was left. I’d be fine with being one of the billions dead unless you were still alive. Under a down comforter or by a trash fire, I want to be where you are. You know how poorly I dig holes, how angry I get when I’m cold, how twice I’ve accidentally maced myself, and still you’d take me with you down into the earth, give me more than my fair share of caterpillar.