'You'll see.'
The fog is lifting.
'You'll see.'
I can think. The head is clearing.
'You'll see.'
See what?
'You'll see.'
It was a whisper.
It was okay for him to slam his door, but when I reciprocated, I was the biggest racist asshole under the sun.
I had asked him a thousand times, politely, 'please close the door gently.'
I had also asked him a thousand times, please throw out your rubbish.
That was a lie.
I wouldn't dare outright say that.
'You'll see.'
I can see that the lock hasn't been installed properly but if you close the door gently, the noise will be reduced to a non-complaining level.
Congo John slammed the door for the sole reason that he could.
He didn't like being told by a white person.
He never told me to do anything.
That was commendable.
I cleaned the toilet for the last three years.
His black bitch only used the toilet but never cleaned it.
Even when I was shitting all over the place, spraying it on the wall and finger painting, 'Fuck off Niggers,' the two African love birds never cleaned up after me.
A shame, my shit is prime shit, worth a lot of money on the black market, just for the high bacterial levels.
