After the spill calmed down, I left the exploded warehouse, I took my bike and went home. My body by now had mutated into an elastic being, La Estirada, a body half bagging machine half hairy cow, still an essential worker of color.

I was finally embodying the violence and exploitation that have frightened, exploited and stretched my body for so long. 

Within the universe of a heavily capital world, which became more apparent after the racial inequalities brought by the pandemic, it seemed my destiny as a woman of color was its fully integration of the circuit capital through the disintegration of my own body. Yet, after the spill, there seems to be something present in my condition of color and migrant, that allowed for this hybrid transformation into an-Other body.

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I passed by the castle, where I briefly stopped to dance in front of its main gates, next to the dog statues. 

I continued my journey, I passed by the cute dutch wealthy cottages, with their perfectly painted facades of blue diagonal strips.

Finally, I stopped in the same spot where I saw the hairy cows the first time about a year ago. They were at pasture, in the middle of the night after work. And there it was me, facing six of them closer than I ever faced any exotic creature back in my far away exotic country. No worlds of separation this time. This silent, ridiculous and imminent violent scene paralized my body. A body that is of color, migrant and working class. Like the imminent destiny of my people. This time though the hairy cows were gone. It was me only sitted in the grass, moving my horns around. It was a sunny day, I took a nap.