the little fly

The little fly sat on the wall…

I would like to begin with a little poem. (Ah-hem)

The little fly sat on the wall.
Him got no mommy comb his hair.
Him don’t care!
Him got no hair!

-the end

So, I would like to share with you a true story of a little fly. A fly that likes to join me in the bathroom. Why does he enjoy this atmosphere? We shall never know the real truth, but we can, and we will, elaborate on this…

Everyday (only 1 so far) I find this little fly, we’ll call him Fred, in the bathroom stall with me. Either he’s a s-l-o-w fly and can not find his way out of the stall OR he quite enjoys the company of women. If the latter is true we will officially call him Fred the Perv. But, we musn’t be hasty. Perhaps he’s just slow and missed the bus home. I suppose another theory would be that he’s homeless and a drunkard. Maybe his family kicked him out because they could not stand his drinking and spending of all their hard earned money. Maybe his guilt (assuming he, as a drunkard, has any guilt) is living in a bathroom stall because it’s the only way to purge himself of his sins.

Nonetheless, I have grown accustomed to seeing Fred upon my visits to that bathroom. He’s a strange comfort in my dismal life. Ok, It’s not that bad, but I think it was needed for effect.