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The Water Here

There is a cat on the sofa.  I have my big plastic water bottle screwed open.  Maybe I'll have some water.  Maybe the cat wants some water.  She comes over and has a sniff of the opening of my bottle.  She makes gag face, and has to control herself from retching up a hairball.

What is that smell, she wonders, and despite her best intentions has another sniff.  More gag face.  Oh my god, she thinks.  That smell will haunt my dreams.  And because she is a cat and her memory isn't that great, or maybe she just likes the smell of unpleasant things, she has another sniff.  Gag face.  Even the cat learns to not sniff at it.  So I go ahead and have a sniff.  Smells like chlorine and dirt.

The river here is so lazy and slow.  They call it the "Old Man" river.  It wanders where it wants.  It's random thoughts leading it wither and thither.  He is frail.  Once a powerful demon fed by the mightiest of glaciers, now just a relic who's forgot where he put his glasses, when they are on top of his head.

Old Man River joins with Bow river, and together they flow to the Hudson Bay.  Their joining is youth and wisdom in water.  If you drink of them after their union, you will want to move to the suburbs and have a family. 


JMH said...

I think I have drunk that water and then puked it up. Never again the suburbs, wandering around barefoot on pavement for some ingenue -- better the insanity of the city, where a person can be shot dead at a moment's notice and people will remember for a matter of months, but then forget, and a clipping in the newspaper is the only thing that remains.

John Dantzer said...

Better the insanity of rural, where a father will shoot his son/brother when they are both drunk off moonshine, and the only one who sees it is an old blind woman on the porch. She sees everything. Except she won't tell anyone because everyone has so much dirt on everyone else.