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I feel even smaller than my four foot ten frame. |
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I feel even smaller than my four foot ten frame; my closet is a luxury suite. I'm thinking of having a bathroom installed. I will no longer have to piss into the cracks in the floor. I will no longer have to shit in my hands and put them in my pockets until I go grocery shopping where I stuff my excrements into stale bread. I could add curtains to the windows, too. I think. Perhaps even carpeted flooring. I remember I have to piss. So I piss into the cracks. It's a meticulous task that I have mastered. I can hear the college student who lives below me getting angry. I can smell her red face, sort of. She is trying to call me. I can hear the phone ringing, outside, beyond the soft walls of my luxury suite. She gives up and yells fuck. I can hear her hands being thrown in the air. She dials for the landlord. She is complaining to the landlord about the ceiling. "Why is the ceiling leaking? It shouldn't be leaking. It's not even raining. And even if it was raining it shouldn't be leaking down to here. What the fuck. Do something." I hear her smash the telephone into its slot. I push my nose into a corner. I take pleasure in some brief, silent flagellation. I can hear the girl below me; I can hear her nose flaring up, sort of. |
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