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My father says when people ask that it's the one thing this family hasn't fucked up. kuwait Prearcturas gigas, it says, was over a meter kuwait long. I try pronouncing the name under my breath. "You're all right," my brother says, eyeing me. That's a scorpion three feet long. There's a picture of the pedipalps, the moveable things near the mouth that kuwait help shovel the prey in, a fossil, next to ones from the largest scorpion today. It's like hunting knives next to fingernail parings. My father starts rooting through the garbage, swearing. My mother calls it Saying the rosary. "Don't go through the garbage," she calls. "It's not in the garbage." Our neighbor's still watering.
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