25.2.09

urinator valley

We are not allowed to leave the compound, so class field trips tend to be localized; for instance, this week we visited the bathroom. As each stall offers homage to a different deity, the students were segregated and left to autonomous explorations of the toilet, which is also a well, so with string spun from fine-knotted hair and hooks built from braces each team went sewer fishing while Annabelle and I read letters from the home office written backwards in the mirror. The walls decorated with dyes squeezed from hand soap and urinal blocks and flags flown from toilet paper, soon enough each stall became its own nation, and the flourishing of under-divider commerce taught truer lessons than any of the gibberish textbooks the temporary government sends us in dump trucks every other Monday. I felt a sense of purpose swelling as the miniature cretins learned to haggle and barter, and I told Annabelle we should never return to the learning center, we should spend the remainder of the semester in our bathroom classroom, but she was pleasuring herself with the hand dryer and paid me no mind.

3 comments:

C.J.Duffy said...

Funny, wry and also totally surreal. Loved it. Hand dryer eh? Must check why my daughters take to so long with the hair dryer!!!

Jaie said...

i agree with C.J. I enjoyed this greatly. greatly.

doriandra said...

there was an innocent visit to the armenian bakery once wherein i shuffled in and meekly handed coins to the overweight woman who wrapped up a tiny cake in a lavender tissue paper piece that once eaten, filled my being with rose flavored urinal cake that would not erase. no, never.

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