It’s kind of like when, after it rains, you, the very, very
bright you, for some reason, decides to take a short cut across a field of
grass. You may question whether it’s dry but do it anyway. This feeling…it’s like that 7th step
in that field when you realize that it is indeed still very, very wet. Your feet sink in and squish. The
corners of your pinky toes smoosh
against the mud that’s oozing in through the side of your canvas sneakers.
Across the field minutes later, shoes heavy, perhaps even
pant legs now dragging behind you and scraping the sidewalk with each sodden
stride. Yeah, it’s kind of like that…that sting in your cheeks when you
realize, 10 minutes later, that somewhere after that soggy foray into the grass
a piece of toilet paper found your sticky sole and has been a quiet hitchhiker
below, causing no fuss, only accumulating dirt and tiny pebbles into the clumps
of poo-colored dirt already dried like ugly, lumpy doughnuts around the base of
your lower half.
So then, really, you’ve got to know that your whole day is
fucked.
