Saturday, April 22, 2017

prosaic interlude #5

Norway (Part E)


I was in the woods, in a very clean latrine, in Flam. America seemed far, distant, a dream to to become real in less than a week. Nature's laughter was around me, the foreign birds' songs and the domestic putzing splashes of mu troop. I looked to the sky. Though light plastic corrugated roofing the pines outlined in their game to dwarf me. They swayed back and forth, humbling and then fading from view, building me up again. It was n one of the downward swaying that I thought of this. I had finished my duty, accomplished my objective, and I noticed the absence of TP in this latrine of European efficiency.

I never waste time in that capacity. Searching for TP or a substitute was not high o my list. The decision was an impulse, perhaps a defamation, a desecration, in the vulnerable throes of unclean deification. I paused in my anarchistic matter to calculate, to gauge my need for US currency and how much I had exchanged to Krone. Would I have enough to last me the trip. Was the exchange rate worth it. Could I live with this. It was better than walking away dirty. My mind was made up, I sacrificed my last green money for hygiene. What better president than Andy Jackson t get a little shit on his face. My gut said that our 7th president would not have hesitated for a second to do the same to a human being. Quickly went the wiping and my last remaining green spot fell into the void of the latrine. It was only paper, possibly originating from one of those trees.

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