Part 3: The Part Where it Rains Birdshit and Meteors

   I can't see the sky, so I can't be sure of the time, but I'm pretty sure Ms. Pigg is late. I'm not free during lunch hours, so we agreed to have a drink and some evening dinner, around 9, at Foo Foods. She likes Vietnamese. I like them alright too. But I'm not enjoying sitting alone in this restaurant as it pours outside.
   You see, people stare. And not always because I'm naked. More often they just look at my angel face . They don't usually seem like they like it. Whatever. A young woman in the corner is holding a baby. She's far, far too young to be holding a child. I daresay she looks even worse than I do. Is that egotistical of me? She's holding the future in her hands. She reminds me of my better half.
   We spend all of our lives searching for our better halves. We spend all of our lives losing them.
   Ms. Pigg is definitely late.
   The door opens, and it's raining even worse than I thought ("They say even God cries"). Ah, there's Ms. Pigg! Only fashionably late, I'm sure.
   Actually, she's naked. Well, I suppose that's a fashion statement. Hell, I know it is.
   I don't remember what we talked about or for how long, but it must've been fairly lively, because I remember talking to her. I got a little too drunk. A running theme in life. "A running excuse."
   When I get drunk, I become a gentleman. I held open the door for Ms. Pigg, tipped the waitress, and told the lady with the baby good luck. There's nothing more beautiful than a lady with a baby. I offer to walk Ms. Pigg home.
   On the way to Ms. Pigg's place, it's raining even worse than before. Even God cries. But not me. Not tonight. To make Ms. Pigg laugh, I spread my arms wide in a Jesus Christ pose. And with my arms wide open, with a sea of sewage and severed heads as my floor ... it starts raining pigeon shit. And I almost vomit. I must of looked quite funny, gagging while I'm simultaneously covered in shit and being cleansed.
   Just before I'm about to spew, the rain stops. Ms. Pigg taps me on the shoulder and points up. The sky is covered in shooting stars ("Make a wish and save me"), and pieces of rock showered around. After the cosmic fireworks end, I look at Ms. Pigg.
   We start laughing.
   We laughed a long time.

Part 2.5: The Sun in Front of Leeroy

    Earlier in the day a swinish-looking woman came by and asked me if I was lost. I said, quite simply, "Yes." The swinish-looking lady looked a bit like she didn't know how to respond. I thought she looked quite swinish. I would never say such a thing, of course, but my thoughts are my own. Finally, she said, "My name is Ms. Pigg." I snorted. Oh the irony of life. The "parallelism." Attempting to hide my giggles, I said in a flat voice, "Nice to meet you. My name's Leeroy."

...

   That was earlier. As of now, I am laying on my back, catching a tan on the roof of the play set as passers-by watch. When I tan, I usually try to remember lines or ideas from my book to keep my mind off testicular-cancer. Skin cancer I can handle, testicular cancer not so much. I'm getting too young to worry about testicular cancer.

Part 2: The Part Where Leeroy Pisses on Everything

   My feet stand parallel at the top of the slide, one foot slightly behind the other. The slide twists down towards the ground, to simulate some kind of fun for the children. Oh, look! Now the slide is a water slide!
   Except the water is my piss.
   This is a ritual of mine.
   Every night, at about 10 o'clock, I wake up from my nightmares ("I don't sleep, I dream") only to piss them away.
   Every damn night.
   There's only one rule in this life ("Stay on the path"), and it's meant to be broken ("Stay on the path to enlightenment"). There's only one destination ("In the end, it won't make a difference"), and it'll only kill you.
   Stay on the path.
   This is my way of breaking the rule. This is my way of "being myself," or "not conforming." Whatever. When I piss I try to remember lines from my book. Lines like, "stay on the path," and "be myself." My book was the only thing keeping me going. What was it about? I don't remember. I can't.
   So, I'm peeing/pissing/living down the slide, when I feel like I'm being watched. Call it a sixth sense, if you will. I look up from my stream of waste and corruption to meet eyes with an elderly lady waiting at the bus stop, rather nondescript looking. She was kinda pretty in that way, I guess. Maybe a little nervous. She seemed to be thinking quickly. I could see it. Every few minutes, another thought.
   10:15: Where the Hell is the bus?
   10:18: Who is this strikingly handsome naked man, and why is he pissing everywhere?
   Like that. I'm still pissing. I had to go. And she's just watching, kind of disgusted. Just watching. I did a lot of that in my single-serving home. I try to think of something deep to say ("Hey, how are you?"), and this is what I come up with...
   "What? Haven't you ever wanted to watch the worst parts of you just float away?"