She felt lost in the mist of sullen faces, in the drowsy silences, in the whole landscape of morning weariness. She had to work. She had to press her wide body against the mass of sluggish flesh that was the high-fat, low-protein and unique component of the commuter train. Sometimes the flesh tried to resist, and emitted some faint protests, that soon fade away once her bulk was reckoned with. She always found room, never had to plead, never would. They were aware that she could fall and trample them or stampede in panic or anger. She was the most dangerous being in the train and they'd better not displease her. But they could not help staring at her, ogling her de-horned head, her emaciated flanks, her flaccid udders that no longer had the rosy plumpness of the youth.

She had overheard the dreadful word before, "culled", mumbled over the rumbling by sad, dry and tired lips. They showed fear, but they didn't show respect. They knew who she was, though, she who used to be called Sleek, or Fatty. Fat she had been, a long time ago, before any of them was even born. While the train hurled itself into a contorted maze of dark tunnels, she tried to remember her life in Egypt, in the loamy pastures of the Nile. Such a pleasant, peaceable time she had with her siblings. Then the seven dreaded Ugly and Gaunt ones had come from the depths of the river, and it was over. Her six sisters had been killed and devoured on the spot, but she had escaped. Later, she had embarked on a merchant ship leaving for America, where she had had no trouble finding work, first in New York, then slowly moving westbound, until she