Crap

Standard

Usually when I did my business, it would glide out, I’d wipe and then flush. Quick as a drive thru. I don’t know how people can sit on the crapper and read a book or magazine. I tried it, but I needed to push a bit this time. The toilet is the only place one can truly be alone, meditate and find a fragment of peace. The smell, more than enough to ward off anyone and the rest of the world. Washing my hands, I looked into the mirror above the basin. The white of my right eye was red and I could finally see what people were talking about when they said “you look just like your father”

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