It’s been raining here for five days now.
I was eating a biscuit and someone said, your dogs want to go outside and like an idiot I took them out, only they didn’t want to go out in the rain, they wanted my biscuit.
When I came back inside, I found dog shit on one of my flip flops, so I felt like doing something antisocial. What could I do, I wondered?
I decided to wash the shit off in the bathroom sink. I imagined telling overnight visitors.
I was at a disadvantage to most people because I didn’t have hot water or very good pressure in the pipes. Also, I wanted to use my low-quality Mexican toilet paper to clean the shit. These were hurdles that gave me comfort.
My hopes grew.
Some of the pieces of shit stuck to the sides of the sink. I had to coax them down the drain. The toilet paper turned to spider web. It was then that I realized ever time I’d brush my teeth I’d think about cleaning the shit in the sink. I’d see the shit even though it wasn’t there.
So I stopped and began to madly scrub my hands with soap and at that moment, I felt like Lady Macbeth.
What had I done to Duncan?
I’m in bed now reading Macbeth and it comes to my mind that Shakespeare stole most of his stories, but what gave him street cred was his voice.
His voice came from someplace hidden inside, an echo faintly heard, but with good timing upon the boards.
Sad-eyed dogs, shit on my flip flop, the voice of Shakespeare, where will it all end?
On a rough path perchance, nearby the stony wall. Forsooth, see with thine eyes.