Notes from the Can

Lots of flatulence and everything’s coming out slow.  Strange, had I waited an extra five minutes, a mess would have formed on the bed. That’s where I was, lying there, considering my next move…literally.   Stay here or go elsewhere.

Staying here certainly would be convenient.   Keep up my routine looking for work, milling about the various coffee shops.  Stalk folks at Barnes and Noble.  The same folks.  The ones who threatened to call the cops on me.

Going elsewhere, ah, would be an adventure!  Sell my shit (not what’s leaking into the can right now…that’ll be long flushed), say farewell to all my neutrally minded friends and then dash off to a large vessel of land.   In that land I can heal, grow all sorts of foods, meet a plethora of folks, maybe even come in contact with my right mate.  It was OkCupid who informed me (via the hundreds of questionnaires) that it’s out west where I’ll find more people like me.

Thank you, Can.   I now know what to do.