One day, after he had woken up and forced open his facets, he was startled by another fly, a young adult.

"I'm Wants Shit," said the young fly.

"Tom," said Dines on Shit.

"Tom?"

He laughed, but stopped himself. His head hurt too badly for laughter. It throbbed with pain.

"Dines on Shit," he said.

"Are you hungry, Dines on Shit?"

He followed the youngster down the length of the restaurant, out a small hole in the wall, across the parking lot, to a large storage shed. They went in through the roof. Dines on Shit's eyes widened. There were numerous furry animals, smaller than dogs or cats, and they were kept in place by fences. Wants Shit said the fenced areas were called pens. Little water troughs ran through each.

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"What are the animals called?" said Dines on Shit.

"The humans call them guinea pigs. They're docile, which is helpful. We use them because they have great tasting Shit. Ready to eat?"

The young fly knew his business. The meal was excellent. Wants Shit said it was highly nutritious, too. When they'd finished eating, Dines on Shit had a lot of questions, and Wants Shit was happy to answer them. The animals were fed by monks, and then they produce all the food they could ever want, all in one place.

"What do they eat?" said Dines on Shit.

"Vegetables." Dines on Shit wrinkled his nose at that. "I know it's revolting," said Wants Shit. "Not all creatures have the refined tastes that we have."

Several flies walked into the pens carrying leafy green produce over their heads. Dines on Shit drew in breath. "They don't have…" He couldn't take his eyes off of them. "Humans pulled them off?"

"No," said Wants Shit. "They're monks. They had their wings surgically removed."

"But why?!" Some of the wingless monks looked over.

"You should meet the guru," said Wants Shit. "He can explain it better than I can."

"The guru?" said Dines on Shit. "You know the guru? He's here?"

"Not here, but close by."