flood

if you've been hanging around this cyberspace popsicle-stand long enough, you already know that my titles have jack-shit to do with my posts. you would also know that i quite frequently drop random tidbits that i don't bother to explain, just for the sake of keeping you guessing and wondering, and hence...

i'm not going to bother explaining the chinchilla thing. heh heh.

the other night i delivered to the smelly guy. there is this middle-aged disabled guy that lives in these nasty apartments in my area. i damn near have an epileptic siezure every time his address comes up, because i know what is in store for me.

i get to his door, knock, take my last untainted breath for the next hour, and hold it.

he opens the door and immediately i am engulfed in a cloud i can almost see, and despite my best efforts, can most assuredly taste. i have to fight watery eyes, a coughing fit, and the urge to stand back four feet from the door.

this guy is like pigpen, if pigpen was satan's brother, and resided in the inner circle of hell. he's large, like a 71 buick is large. he owns only two articles of clothing, a red t-shirt that was once a tent, and a pair of faded black sweat bottoms. he owns neither a comb, nor a toothbrush, and if he even owns a shower, he's using it to water plants or something. he has rheumy eyes, scraggly hair, and he insists on talking for five or ten minutes while i fight the rising nausea.

when i can bolt, out of an attempted respect, i wait until i am in the stairwell to cough and gag and retch. when i hit the outside air, i gulp down mouths full of the breeze like a drowning man, in an attempt to clear the residual stank out of my nostrils.

darth sardonic