It was another one of those political bumper stickers. “Slime mold are people too,” it said in tall, square navy letters against a bright yellow background. Shanna had half a mind to hit the vehicle in front of her, just based on the stupid bumper sticker alone. She didn’t care if radiation from nuclear fallout had instigated a world-wide phenomenon of spontaneous slime mold mutation, giving them sentient, psychic abilities. They were still slime molds, damnit. She was “people.” Mold was mold. And it got cleared away with bleach and hot water. No matter how much it screamed or protested.