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Tuesday, December 09, 2008

out of control


It was on a Tuesday evening while struggling to roll the stolen office chair forward because it was stuck on a wad of week old puppy urine soaked newspaper that the man decided, no, realized that his life was completely out of control. The apartment floor was covered with aforementioned newspaper and a surprisingly varied assortment of suspicious looking mampoo coloured smears.

The kitchen counters were completely hidden beneath a motley crew of different household chemical and detergent containers in various stages of use. A strange, musty smell permeated the air. It was not the smell of the dog urine. It was the cupboards rotting since water from the leaking tap that the man had reported to Etchells & Young weeks before had run down the wall at the back of the sink, pooling in a fetid black swamp at the bottom of the cupboard, hidden from view. The man had taken out all the containers and dried the cupboards. They now stood open, vomiting the smell the smell of rotting wood into the small apartment. Instinctively, he knew that no tenant in the apartment, however many years down the line, would be able to get rid of that smell. He saw into the future of the building, hundreds of years later when it was torn down to make space for an upmarket residential complex of which the plans had been drawn up by an architect that would turn out to have been a pedophile for 32 years.

Heaps of unwashed washing littered the floor. Even though it was a Tuesday, the man was doing the laundry. Saturday had come and gone without the man even thinking of it. Now there was no clean underwear in the cupboard and the washing simply had to be done.

The man realized all of this in an instant. He stood up and took a container with a spray nozzle from the counter. He also took a small and fungi ridden sponge. He strode into the dirty bathroom. And he thoroughly cleaned the basin. He stared at the plum coloured cloth in his hands. Yes, that was the reason it was that odd colour. Weeks before, the man's partner had poked him in the face with an empty Milo container and the man had bumped over a glass of red wine while protesting. The cloth still smelled of wine.

At least there was a sparkling clean basin.

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