Friday night, Seattle. I don’t know what other people do, but I was at home, hunched over a glowing screen, bidding on framed taxidermy insects in an online auction. The auction items each began at five dollars. A heartbeat. Then another bid. I waited, countered, hoped. In the end, I had won three framed sets, including this beauty. The next morning in SODO, a warehouse full of strangers gathered to claim their curiosities. We sized each other up, united by the peculiar thrill of victory, and I thought: Are these my people? The Green Leaf Insect Parade is the echo of that night: rows of jade-green bodies marching in disciplined repetition, each insect both camouflage and revelation. A procession of illusions turned into pattern, order stitched from chance.