Hi, Substack! 久しぶりですね。 Something has been sitting in my mind for a while now that I fear I will forget the longer I keep it. So while it’s s
Hi, Substack! 久しぶりですね。
Something has been sitting in my mind for a while now that I fear I will forget the longer I keep it. So while it’s still not ready, and I’m still not too fond of my memories the last time I was here, here goes -
There’s something sad and unholy when morning breaks.
You know, that sliver of time when there’s light enough everywhere to see but not having been there long enough yet that the happenings when there was less of it still concealed things, or made them seem like some sort of a hazy image.
It might not always be the case in your part of the world, but I believe somewhere, to someone, or something, it is. These thoughts, simply spurred by two vivid instances I saw during my travels home from work a few months back:
The first - simply, a man diligently washing clothes.
Except that he was rinsing suds off the clothes.
And that he used very little water. Almost just a trickle. In what seemed like an effort to conserve what little he had then.
The water? It was stored in a used gallon container.
And it was also a bit murky.
It just rained that morning. The roads were still wet and there were still puddles around where he was.
Puddles with murky water.
This isn’t speculation, dear one. I saw his efforts with the container.
And the clothes?
They were tiny.
I’ll let you do with that image, what you will.
*****
I love dogs. Always have, always will. I used to have asthma as a kid and I was told I could never have pets to spare me from fits. I’m glad that didn’t become a reality.
Walk home from work, and I spotted a stray on the other side of the street lounging cozily almost behind a lamp post.
I thought, “Ah, that’s where it probably spent the night sleeping.”
I even thought what a lucky dog, that one, to just have been able to sleep that night away. I was exhausted, did a mountainload of work and had another mountainload waiting, it was starting to get hot, and the commute was adding up to everything. I was one tricycle ride away from home.
The roads cleared. I started to cross. Eyes still on the stray, I saw it seemed to be enjoying itself licking on a treat in front of it, then pausing to look around as if proud of the treat.
I got closer, curious and almost asked her what it was in front of her that was giving her much joy. I was close enough to recognize it didn’t have the body of a male dog.
The treat was pink. Ah, might be stolen meat from one of the early market sellers. But it was a weird pink, I belatedly realized, and the treat was elongated. Fuck, was it a filled (with something else) condom? No, seriously, I thought it was for a split second.
Then I saw the two dark nubs. And it hit me that it wasn’t a condom. It wasn’t a treat. Her licks were actually frantic, she wasn’t cozily lounging behind the lamp post, and the floor she was lying on was wet. It didn’t rain that day.
The thing in front of her was stolen, I think we could both agree. Although not from anyone or anything else, but from her.
She paused and looked around again. It still wasn’t breathing. And she continued licking.
*****
My apologies, this isn’t a letter. Just fish swimming in a tiny pond that I would like to set free.