the mirror that an ear was missing. He wiggled his toes and something snapped softy, and rolled away. It was getting late. He had to focus. No time to be chasing things on the floor. The sun straddled his apartment and made the tarred roofing waffle with heat. Cats left the rooftop for cooler napping places and birds huddled under leaves and awnings to shield their dusty feathers from the hot fingers of the sun. Damn! He had to find that ear. He crawled around until he found the toe that had come away instead and rolled behind the toilet. It crumbled in his hand. He was definitely late now. No time for this crap. All over the World the work-day was in full swing. In an office far away a water bottle in a lobby somewhere made an oily gulping sound as someone poured themselves a drink. The city water was too full of bugs to want to drink it. In his apartment though, Albert dealt handily with the bugs. Everything always smelled of Raid. Now his knee was numb. The bones ratcheted around in the socket when he turned to face the toilet again. How was he ever going to get to work like this? He glared at the mirror of the medicine chest. He scratched his right breast crowned by a hard, berry colored nipple, and something popped softly, spun downward and made a plunking sound in the toilet. He pivoted on one foot to look, and felt the ankle powder under the skin and collapse like a mound of stiff sand. He needed to go to the kitchen. His foot dragged along on the tile floor of the bathroom dissolving into it as he reached for the knob of the door to steady himself. His boss was going to be pissed. On the TV news in Albert’s apartment the broadcaster wondered out loud if Iraq would ever become a sovereign nation. Then a smiling man burst down a mountain road in an SUV while his vehicle changed shape and color all the way down, like a chameleon on crack. TV would help Albert concentrate on getting to work. He shuffled to the kitchen, but on the linoleum halfway there the joint in his hip made a soft popping sound and his leg shot to the left as he grabbed at it like a man fumbling for a dropped crutch. He let it go. Dammit he was late. He filled the coffee maker with grounds hopping around in the kitchen on one leg. Then he went to the sink to get water. He felt the temperature of the flow from the tap with his finger for no reason, and looked out across the driveway to the street beyond. People walked back and forth like cardboard targets. He thought briefly that perhaps he was looking at a personal shooting gallery; back and forth the cardboard caricatures of human beings ratcheted, and if he could hit one or two what would he win? Then again what would he hit them with, a dirty look? He glanced down and saw the water had dissolved his forefinger and carved a groove in the two fingers below it. He was holding the water receptacle around the bottom of the plastic handle with his pinky. He carefully placed it in the coffee maker, flipped it on with what was left of his finger and waited for the coffee to perk. He sat down feeling the vinyl seat of his dining room chair on his bare ass. He absently kneaded his genitals waiting for the coffee. There had been a time that doing this would have evolved into several hours of theMeadow 37
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