I watch at my kitchen window the feet and pale bellies of numerous moths on the window screen These have come from the night to be mesmerized by my fluorescent light as I wash the dishes. What addictive magic is in the light that can so hold their attention while a substantial part of their short lives passes? What might other moths be doing now, the successful moths, the Bill Gates moths? Building cocoons, reproducing, eating? Might these wastrels squander their courtship and childbearing hours unwittingly eliminating this proclivity from their collective genes sparing future generations this hapless fate? With the dishes finished I leave these questions unanswered and retire to the living room for my TV time until bed.