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I was 7 years old and we just moved from New York City to Bayonne, New Jersey. On 26th street and Avenue C there was an empty lot strewn with weeds and discarded glass Coke bottles. I suppose those bottles now sell on eBay for 5 to 10 dollars or more. A person could make a good living visiting the homes of old people who never throw anything away and offering to clean out their homes. You might have to wait until they die, but I'm sure their children would be more than happy to find someone to get rid of all that clutter.
It was Summer in 1952 and I would come to this lot on a hot afternoon with a few bits of unfinished lunch so I could watch ants going after the food. It was very simple, look for a small mound of fresh dirt with a small hole on top, tear the lunch meat into small chunks, put them near the hole and within seconds a few ants would come out to start trucking the meat back to their home. Soon there were hundreds of ants engaged in the enterprise of removing my food to their domain. It was quite fascinating to watch the spectacle, how quickly they organized themselves, how well they spread the word.
Now here comes the brutal part. It came about quite by accident and I do not recall why I did it. I took a scoopful of these busy little insects and brought them over to another anthill a few feet away and dropped them into a small pile. It was only a matter of seconds before these "intruders" were discovered by the residents of this different anthill. Poor creatures, they were immediately set upon and eaten. How strange I thought to myself, these ants looked exactly like the strangers they attacked, same coloring, same size; I certainly couldn't tell the difference by looking, but the ants could.