Luco & the Sink

This is my sink. Is not it lovely? You can see the prison guard has left the water on for me (I do not know why she deigns to do me this favor; I can only be thankful for the brief respite from her habitual tyranny).

It is an amusement of mine to drink this water and then look out the window, dreaming of the Outside (and even to dream of an Outside free of mortality, disease, torment, etcetera) where I am certain countless faucets like this exist. Where I am sure there are very many hands to turn the water on and softly pet my head.

But I must make myself content. Envying the dog his freedom (Oh, were you unaware? That creature is allowed Outside at will, sans leash. Something about a fence being patched. Patch my heart, please, prison guard, instead) is a waste of my time and intellect.

I will sing out, instead, my sorrow and my delight. Sorrow that I am trapped forevermore, delight that the prison guard has left this water running. The feeling of cool water sliding across my tongue and down my throat is immensely pleasurable. I am an animal, I endure, I thirst and yet that thirst is sometimes quenched in the most satisfying of ways.

And then she turns the water off.