The crab turned out not to taste as bad as I had feared, but the work involved in breaking the meat out of the shell was hardly worth the small amount of food we got from it. I thought it tasted bland, but didn’t say anything. When I was finished, I was about to dump the shells and legs into the trash when Sinda said, “No, crack those open, too. That’s the best part.”
Sure enough, the legs were very tasty, and I felt vindicated tearing the claws apart to get at the meat inside. But when I cut myself on a sharp piece of shell, I’d had enough. “The food here sucks,” I announced, wiping my hands on a nearby towel.
They still felt sticky, and I used a small amount of water from my daily ration to try to get them clean. Suddenly I’d had it—I was finished with living like something the rains h
