T’was at least the third day, though more like the fifth day of foodless, sleepless, mindless insectile’ creeping about. . . My skinny sweating frame and the doggie’ stench of my crusty sock-clad feet wafting skyward, “accompanied by that familiar chemical mix of sweat, meth, cologne and days old body-wash.”
I peek out of windows and through door cracks with no single purpose in mind just seeking something. . .
There’s some dog fur on my shirt? Is there a dog here? Yes, but how come he isn’t reacting to whoever is lurking just out of site in the shadows?
“Maybe he’s drugged?”
 Dead quiet, , , I suddenly hear a soft verbal rumble, a sound from where?
“What the fuck?”
The noise is coming from inside my guts!!
Oh no, good Lord!!
Ok, ok, calm down, , , IT doesn’t know that I know. . . yet!
I slowly and nonchalantly walk toward the bathroom as if I plan to take an innocent piss.
Once there I unbuckle and pull out my reluctant, scared, shriveled grub.
I pause, now It’s aware that something is amiss!
I know it, and It knows that I know!!
In one swift movement—I drop my drawers and squat, squeezing my bowels for all they’re worth!!
“Be gone—DAMN YOU!”, I scream.
I can hear a faint squeaky: “Ut-oh!!” come from my belly as IT realizes the jig is up.
I fervently clench and unclench my sphincter forcing out the horrid creature.
I finally hear a soft plop, and with sweat dripping, head down, I peer past the fuzzy hard cactus of my adrenaline sucked-up ball sack and barely glimpse the visage of the little brown bastard as it quickly slips silently out of sight into the dark toilet hole. . .
“Yes, I beat you! I BEAT YOU- – – you Son of a Bitch!!”
I scream and laugh manically as I repeatedly flush. . . days later I realize the churning of a food starved stomach tends to rumble. . .