The potato bug lay helplessly on her back, legs churning back and forth like an old set of chopsticks being held by a Tourettes victim.
She was hungry. That was for sure.
Her last feeding was nearly two days ago, and she was beginning to lose her will to flip over. It didn’t really matter though, she had been trying to no avail since Wednesday evening, when she fell out of Mr. Shepard’s shoe lining on the corner of Cadbury and Benedict Avenues.