He is cleaning his gods’ faces, brushing their teeth. He is washing his hands. He is a man devoted to the useless. He is old and still caged. He is roaming around, calling random people and talking crap. An hour ago, he ordered a dead animal. It should arrive around midday. He is sitting in the toilet, filling the bucket and then emptying it in his throat. He is turning the knob, locking the door, disappearing. He is spitting in the ocean. He is burying the birds under his red carpet. His brain is working but it doesn’t matter. He has lost it. He lost it long ago when he began thinking that he was right in everything. Nobody is right in anything. We do what we do.
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