Waiting for the train home, I leaned against the glass door and buried my nose in my book, impatient to finish. It's not that I don't know the ending cos I do. I always read ahead to know how it ends even before I know how it begins. So I didn't notice you till the train arrived, and I stepped in and sat down, and you sat down next to me. You said hi tentatively like you didn't want to disturb my reading, cos it's not like we really know each other besides superficially. But I put away my book anyway and we talked about inconsequential things, which expanded into a surreal conversation about killing animals, for experiments to be precise.

You've killed hundreds of laboratory rats, so many you've lose count. You also spoke matter-of-factly about the different ways of killing different laboratory animals (you explained about using a guillotine and I didn't really want to believe it), and about the average number of rats you need for each sampling experiment in order to ensure data integrity. I remembered my blog on data integrity, and how ironically different its meaning is from yours. You weren't gloating or trying to scare me, and you weren't apologetic either. When you pursued your passion, you hadn't realise the amount of clinical killing involved. Later you've come to accept this, and learnt to deflect questions from people like me with a standard smooth reply. I know your work will be beneficial, much more than mine will ever be. But I'm glad I don't do what you do. It must be very tough on you.