The shame of having been bitten by fleas but the empathy of being flea-ridden. 

they both linger for days, irritating and poignant, a rash and a rush of mixed feelings – 

you feel infested and a part of an infestation, a strange solidarity with dirty couches

and stray cats. Have I broken some social law or is my skin an ecosystem and is there 

no such thing as vast difference. Pontification aside, I notice myself aware of my flea bites

quite often, little magnets of shame and empathy, pushing me away from soiled couches 

pulling me towards, sending me leaping to, needing to be in my own skin.