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?"
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