OBSERVATIONS MADE BETWEEN CITIES ON THE EAST COAST OF VIETNAM
Hoi An

Mid-afternoon, the bus driver stopped to buy a new spare tire. We passengers disembarked to piss and stretch.

The villagers were slaughtering a pig across the road on a slightly raised platform above the surrounding rice paddies. The animal's squeals of pain and terror carried more urgency than the trucks' horns as drivers honked at me for crossing the highway for a better look. I urge any of you meat eater to get as close as those villagers were to their next meal, that once-breathing, once-squealing carcas. As the bus rolled on deeper into the misty hills, the butcherers carved out internal organs.

A certain family story goes that my great grandfather once stabbed himself in the hand while slaughtering a pig. I doubt most of you could ever stand within earshop of a pig's death peals and then fry his jowels for your BLTs. If you could, you deserve to enjoy it.

If you still feel like eating meat you haven't killed yourself, here's a nice article by Robyn Landis about what we can learn from "Mad Cows in a World Gone Mad."

love,
~josh(away)