The toilet attendant looks unconscious. He is slumped on a barstool, the sunken shoulders of his black jacket layered in big asbestos-like chunks of dandruff.
I kick his foot, and his eyes flicker open. He gestures lazily towards the tray of toxic-looking aftershaves next to the basins.
“No splash/no gash …”
I shake my head.
“No Lynx Java/no how’s your father …”
“Just soap, pal.”
He squirts bright pink lather on my bloody hands, but the hot water does little to remove the coppery stink.
Last month saw a new piece of flash fiction go live at Spelk: OOZY RAT IN A SANITARY ZOO.
Big thanks to editor Cal Marcius for running the story – my 11th hosted by the reliably excellent Spelk!