misterpoop

It was night and I was walking through Riverside Park. I was alone and I didnt know where I was going. It was summertime and there were crickets. After many hours of walking I came to a stone wall with a door in it. The door was made of a broken piece of plywood and it was kicked open. I entered and felt my way though the darkness. There were roots coming through the stones and it was damp. I came around the corner and into a small room that was lit with moon light from a grate in the ceiling. It appeared to have been an old storage room for the park rangers that had been usurped by the homeless. There were two lawn chairs around a dead campfire and several make shift beds that were empty. I was clearly trespassing. I turned to leave when I heard: Hey fuck nuts. I froze. It was a hoarse voice. A smokers voice. It sounded like a wheeze. When I turned around there was a frog on one of the lawn chairs. It swallowed: Ribit, Yeah you, shit balls. Whats the matter, kangaroo got your tongue?
Kangaroo?
Ribit. Thats right. Ribit. Stop tryin to monopolize metaphor, you cum stain. Ribit. Fascist. Ribit. What are you catching flies; close your mouth, you look like a tard. Whats the matter, frogs arent good enough? Ribit. You only talk to cockroaches, is that it?
Im sorry, I said, I didnt mean to intrude.
Ribit. Ive been expecting you...
His puffy throat kept pulsing like a tiny heart for quite sometime and he stared at me with his slimy eyes, swallowing till it felt like he was swallow me. Ribit. Listen to me shit balls. Ribit and listen close.
I tried to turn but couldnt. The back of my neck was cold and I was paralyzed. What has this little turd done to me, I thought. Waves of terror swept over me and thus began the battle and the intoxicating need to run. Cold beads of sweat began to appear on my forehead like a fairy crown. Pixie dust. Noctilucent cachectic jewels of crushed glass and stricken fools strung up in corn fields glistening in the moon lit frost.
Its your suffering that makes you special. The frog said. Ribit. That you have too sit and listen to people blubber, is only the scratch on the surface, the pear-green scum on the pond and the frothing miasma. Ribit. The infection lies deeper. Are you listening?
Yes.
It lies deeper. It is a dead toad in the muck. Ribit. It is your sick lust for being special and that specialness lives in your ungodly tolerance for suffering. Ribit. You actually secretly enjoy it because it makes you special. Ribit. You fuckin asshole. Ribit. Remember, no two things ever suffer the alike...
When I woke up the phone was ringing. The radiator was gurgling and hissing. I jumped up and picked it up.
Hello!
Makowski! Caldwell! What the fuck is wrong with you?
My peripheral vision began to blur and I grew very dizzy. Just a minute. I put the phone down. My gut began to boil like some bloat seething volcano from middle earth named Asukamai of the dead. I stumbled into the bathroom and heaved into the toilet a massive jettison, a gargantuan Tsunami of pizza chunks, donuts and purple wine. I began praying between convulsions and made a note to myself with regards to the half-assed mastication. Note to self: Must chew food. I flushed and picked the phone back up.
Caldwell? But there was no one there. The sickening buzz of a dead line pulled at my brain, a long piece of black hair in your Spaghetti. Had I imagined the whole affair? Didnt he call? Surely I was loosing my mind. Was it the slimy amphibian? I hung up, drank some water and went back to bed. It was a heavy dreamless sleep. When I woke up I was in the same position and someone was buzzing the door. How many hours had passed? It was Caldwell. I could see him through the eye hole.
Whadda you want?
We gotta talk.
Look, I told you, I dont have any money... A small wave of nausea passed and my head began to lightly throb.
Fuck the money. He said.
What?
Fuck the money. We got more important business.
My first thought was, this had to be a trap; Caldwell never forgets a bill. I looked through the key hole again to see if he was packing his accursed BB gun. He was not. He was looking at his pocket watch and seemed agitated.
I dont believe you. I said.
He rolled his eyes and stove his watch into his vest. Christ! Fine! You can pay me later, now open up.
This was more like it. I opened the door. And he looked at me and shook his head. Barged pass me and went straight for my fridge and began rummaging.
What, He said, you couldnt dress before you answer the door.
No. I couldnt.
Why dont you wash your fucking underwear huh? Its disgusting.
What are you my mother?
No, I just find skid marks and crusty sperm foul. Dont you have any fuckin beer in this dump.
Its not sperm.
He looked at me. What?
Its donut glazing.
Youre sick. He said. And I knew he was right. I was sick. I pointed to the table which was cluttered with half eaten Pizza and a box of Krusty Kremes and a half gallon of wine. Caldwell grabbed the Jug and took a swig and looked at me. Inside the bottle were several cigarette butts floating around like ships in a storm. I didnt bother to tell him.
You gonna get dressed or stand there like porn star?
I turned to get dressed and began thinking about last nights nightmare.
Caldwell yelled after me, Hurry up! Its already four oclock!
Several minutes later we were walking down Broadway heading south and what began as my hung-over afternoon stroll, turned into a crossroads of mythological proportions. What was to unfold was of serious consequence. Caldwell explained to me the reason for his visit and at once began pleading for my assistance. A dark chasm opened before me. I was feeling nervous. I kept itching my back. Caldwell looked at me with a raised eyebrow. Splinters I said. I had some splinters removed.
Your fucking crazy. He said.
I said nothing, realizing that an explanation would do irreparable harm. The last thing Caldwell needs to know about is Hector. After all Hector has become my only true friend in this God forsaken city. The terrible circumstances of what has unfolded will be revealed soon. Until then I need time to process.

Peace.
c