They tell you when it’s your day, of course — not something to miss. They took your samples quite a while ago — scrapings and blood – but until you got the notice you’d almost forgotten. They tell you to come half an hour before opening.
The staff, all smiles, escort you through the gate — there’s no need to stamp your hand.
A wall of fish tanks lines the entry halls — full of tiny tetras, glass catfish, and glowing cichlids all ontologically recapitulating. You look into miniscule eyes, hunting for recognition or acknowledgement, but that will not come until later. Still, the glowing colors flicker pleasantly. Brilliant scales clothe each tiny body in endless possibilities.
Inside the monkey house, crouched figures scamper.
To read more of “Your Day at the Zoo,”
pick up a copy of Quantum Zoo.