Something really stinks.
Sweetness in the air — the stench of rotting fruit,
Swampy, bacterial sulfur.
Piles of trash.
Could just be that.
Wonder what the juice at the bottom tastes like.
No, look, there’s a person.

Spinning eyes unfocused, lit up blue.
Strings of muddy, unwashed hair.
Bloated, watery flesh slick with oil.
Fuzzy green oranges bobbing by its face.

Look, I think it’s moving.
Its finger, look, look.
Up and down.
Forever?
Probably.
Like space?
Like cutting something in half.
Centimeters at a time, how many miles has it gone?
How many still to go?

Careful, don’t slip on it.
Don’t look too close.
Don’t fall in.