The Theory of Relativity

I’m on my knees again, in the lab, this time with my hand down a clogged floor drain. It does not take a plumber to understand why the drain is not draining. I’m tempted to remove myself from the reality of what I am removing, but I continue, with my hand and a teaspoon, fishing out intestine remains, fat deposits, hog hair, and an assortment of Pig Week slime. I won’t think about the brown pool I’m squatting in. This is a new horrible.

Wiping down the blood splattered walls, I recall the last time I cleaned the lab for the weekly bread baking day.

I long for mouse poop.