Dear Centipede,

I just came out of my bathroom and found you, a giant dead centipede, square in the middle of the bathroom floor. There are two possibilities for you getting there. One is that you crawled out from under the sink, dying naturally in the center of the bathroom, legs in the air, lying on your back as you shuddered your last breath. The other possibility is that I brought you back with me last night, drunkenly and thankful for you not biting me. If this were the case it would appear that I am the one responsible for your death, for this I would apologize. I really hope it was the former, but who knows. I’m slightly freaked out about it at the moment because even if it were the former that still means I have centipedes in my villa. Rene told me that he had been bitten by a centipede like you once. He said it was no good. Thanks for not biting me. Sorry you had to go like this.

Regards,

Augustin