The Opiate, Summer Vol. 10
In Defense of Endangered Species Meg Drislane
T
hey were the new blood diamonds, Howard was saying, the lifeblood of rebel groups that needed funds to sustain themselves, even more than they needed the blind fervor of fourteen-year-old boys. “You’re talking about elephants?” DrueAnne asked, her face a tangle of incomprehension. “Elephant tusks, dear. They’re incredibly valuable. And illegal. The warlords sponsor groups to do the poaching—” “You know, I just heard something about this,” Jay said. His dark, hooded eyes searched out across the expanse of our Chevy Chase living room as he tried to recall what it was.
10.
“Yes. Well, Ty Rooney—” “That’s it!” Jay nodded. “Ty. I ran into him when I was leaving the other night, and he started going on about that, something about a jihadist group aligned with ISIS…” Again his eyes wandered out to the far reaches of the room, past where DrueAnne sat smiling as if in anticipation of a good punch line. “What was he saying, they were caught poaching in one of India’s national parks?” “Which is why I bring it up,” said Howard. “Did he mention he’s thinking of holding hearings?” Jay laughed. “Ty’s always thinking of
