Summer of Soju

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The ear-splitting racket of hyperactive children rumbles through the Kingdom like an earthquake. I writhe around in bed, cursing the children, while Joey prepares himself for the day.

It takes him about ten minutes just to finish buttoning up his shirt. He takes a long pause in-between each one, sighing and staring hopelessly at the ground, waiting for the courage to take on another, and then he repeats the cycle again.

Eventually, he manages to dress himself completely and hurries off downstairs to teach the little demons.

The children’s racket carries on, so I wrap a pillow around my head and shut my eyes tight, hoping to pass out and sleep the pain away, but my bladder seems to have other ideas. I try to ignore it, screwing my eyes shut even tighter and shoving another pillow between my legs, but the nagging bloating persists, forcing me out of bed and into the bathroom, only to be unpleasantly reminded of the muck I expelled during the early hours of the morning, its smell even fouler now than when it left my body. Flushing the toilet last night only made things worse; muck-infused water slowly crept up the sides of the toilet bowl, leaving behind drops of red splatter on its way back down. Nothing but the same happens this morning.

I slump by the toilet, head in hands, exasperated by the thought of having to deal with the muck. It glares at me, and I back at it, the hideous stench rising up my nostrils, further and further until I can’t stand it any longer.

I strap on a pair of washing-up gloves and drag a plastic bucket over to the bathroom. My hand reaches deep into the blockage and I begin pulling out the pieces of muck.

Almost gagging, I manage to transfer all the pieces of muck to the bucket, and once again, the toilet can flush smoothly.

But now, I’m left with a big bucket of muck, and what can one do with a bucket of muck?

The shower seems the most natural choice for a deposit of muck, so I lug the bucket over to the shower and pour its contents down onto the drain. Some of the pieces slap hard against the floor, a few lumps ricocheting onto my feet.

I take the shower head and spray hard at the muck, forcing the remaining pieces to slip through the gaps in the drain. I do the same with the muck on my feet, then trudge back into bed, passing out as soon as I hit the sheet.

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