The piss molecules were inside my skin. There was a cloud of urine with a 200 foot radius emanating from the drunk passed out on the sidewalk and I was already in it. I knew this was going to happen but I rolled the dice because it wasn’t supposed to happen. It was never supposed to happen. The city was supposed to be clean and there weren’t supposed to be massive pee traps to randomly stumble into. It was the same thing at least twice a week. Critical failure. Same drunk, same part of town. How many breaths of air poisoned with his bladder mist had I taken over the months?
Don’t open your mouth. Take shallow breaths. Only keep your eyes open enough to roughly see where you’re going. Just don’t step in it, for fuck’s sake!
Right as my tenuous bubble of protection started to feel somewhat sufficient for the cloud traversal, it burst in a flash of white light from the piercing sound of glass breaking. I felt no glass nor blood on my face but the sound came from right there. Right inside my head. It was devastatingly loud and I had opened my mouth from the shock. I could taste the urine and feel it slow-dripping down my throat into my lungs and stomach.
You know where the drunk is. You caught him in your peripheral vision earlier, much as you didn’t want to. Logic says he got up on his feet and gravity had its way with his bottle, way over there. Nobody means you harm. Calm the hell down! Breathe! No, don’t! Just hold your breath and walk as fast as you can! Get out!
There were voices everywhere. How did none of these people care about bathing in piss? They were talking and laughing as if everything was alright. I quickly passed a restaurant with outdoor seating and people were actually sitting there, eating. The violent, dissonant clanking of silverware was dropped into the warzone of my brain and it was the breaking point. Fight-or-flight response triggered, I shouted and ran, my sensory-induced panic overpowering my fear of the crowd I had to part.
I made it home, exhausted but unable to sit down properly because I didn’t want to copy the piss molecules from my clothes to the furniture. I had left my apartment to get some bread but it was ruined–again–because the bakery put it in a paper bag and not a plastic one. I could see moisture coming through the bag; it wasn’t impermeable by any means. That was a two-way street and the bread went in the trash. I was starving. I had thankfully also purchased a few cans of iced coffee. I washed each three times with soap and water and reluctantly opened one of them.
There he sits on the floor, pouring liquid into that biological, unwanted mess and hating it every time the drink passes through his throat on the way down. It’s insane that he’s drinking his coffee before throwing out his clothes and taking a shower this time. No, it’s insane that you’re looking at him from over here. How many people are drinking coffee right now at the same time? Is someone always drinking coffee? They have to be. There are too many people for that not to be the case. That’s all we’re doing here, converting one thing to another just so we can do more conversions the next day. Are they not aware of this? They’re just having coffee with their friends as if everything’s alright. Must not be breathing.