Happy (En)Trails...

After four hours, I surveyed my hands at midnight. They were a deep black, darker than squid ink and coated in a repulsive moisturizing bile freshly harvested from the labyrinth of pipes under the sink and beneath the walls. The aromatic bouquet, a rancid eau d' compost, reminded me of the alabaster vapors drifting and dancing through Haiti's Cité Soleil slum. For hours, I pushed and pulled a series of coiled spring-steel snakes into and out of various plumbing orifices around the house. Home Sweet Home, constipated by a pound of green beans that Daniela decided to "recycle" in the kitchen sink disposal.... Home, Sweet, Home...I hate you.
This morning, my father and I continued the battery of enemas...until I heard the gurgling gasps rising from the rooftop drain pipe. I sat there on the roof and sighed, humbled by my close encounter with domestic excreta.