Flypaper dangles from the rafters of the barn, swaying in the breeze and sticking to my hair when I forget to duck away from it, and I am left to peel it off hair, shirt, or shoulders, leaving teeny-tiny fly body parts stuck to my clothes, fingers, and scalp, like corpse glitter long after the party is over. The strips hang like toffee-colored party streamers, a ploy to attract pesky