Sunday, February 10, 2013

A Towel Named Sid Vicious

I'm sitting on the toilet lid staring at the towels. I don't know how this happened but they were breathing. Short little contractions, wavy like gravy. I put my hand up, tested the atmosphere, nothing. My own breathing is so minimalistic I can't be causing this. I step into the tub, stare at the towels, they continued to breathe. I think as I stand there close to the curtain, that I might be able to feel it. I pause. Focus. I really focus on myself and get a tiny sensation, a cross between spiders and cocaine. Did the spiders take the cocaine? Or the towels? Did someone use the towel to clean up a cocaine spill? How much could I sell that towel for, would it stop breathing if I sold it? Maybe I could just ring the cocaine out.. I stepped out of the tub. Didn't bother washing my hands. Flicked the water on and off to create a sense of cleanliness. Stuffed the towel in my back pocket let it flip out as to not suffocate it. Went back into the party. Everyone glazed and dusted, a room full of after hour donuts. I named the towel Sid after Sid Vicious and walked out, leaving the door open, searching for a place to crash.

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