There are, of course, horrors happening in this world of ours.
One needn’t look far.
Why those South American architectscontinueto build schools at the foot of scrabbly mountains, I’ll never know.
There are no trees in sight, morons!
No roots to anchor the soil!
What’s the play, insurance?
Their kid didn’t make the varsity alpaca-racing team?
Far be it for me to complain.
I’ve learned that with great privilege comes great expected silence.
God help those poor people who drive east at sunrise and west at day’s end.
My only real choice?
It was always sandals.
Inside, there was a line, of course.
Let’s be honest: they don’t own.
Families that own out east don’t stop at Exxon Mobils for a full-team movement.
It would take at least $20 a lad, plus another $50 for each adult.
One by one, they entered and exited a bathroom I couldn’t see but could definitely smell.
And by the time it was my turn, I almost didn’t care anymore.
It’s that first step into the abyss that changes everything.
The floors are so wet that they’re not even sticky.
There is standing accumulation on the floor.
You move water when you step.
Balls of rolled up paper towels dot the floor like soggy landmines.
What purpose would that serve other than as some totem to a haunted visit from a shedding ghoul?
I struggled with my surroundings as I hurriedly pulled individual squares of toilet paper from the dispenser.
Of course it was that stubborn bang out that only allows you one goddamn sheet at time.
As I said, there are terrible things that happen every day in this world.
