this morning #12.

this morning, soap held the key. goddamn, he stank. hot water poured past his shoulders and soaked his grimy feet with bacteria-killing warmth. he could feel the dead skin pooling between his toes. in retrospect, he shouldn't have mucked through the fucking mud like that. he shouldn't have run from the cops. maybe a little forethought would've been nice but it was morning & there hadn't yet been a rap on his door. with the night cast off, he slipped on a towel & went to the front room & peered through the curtains. the driveway was bare. he’d be back through the curtains for hours to come, jumpy but clean with a convincing stream for his roommates & girl, convinced of the world & convinced of the freedom to come.