Jogging with the Goomba


I’m making love to the Rev. C. She’s surprisingly ok with it. We discuss planned trips to Papua New Guinea and Paramaribo. I’m at college. She tells me to call her, when I’ve finished my course in tearing myself into a thousand pieces. It’s some kind of experiential Osiris course I’m doing. 
I’m running down a country track, rucksack on my back, a sporting Goomba jogs towards me, we pass, wordlessly. I turn at a bend, cutting across a farmers field. His German Shepherd, tied up in his yard, strains and pulls on a barbed wire leash. He gets into the field. I worry that he’ll attack me, but, instead, he merely sits over me, protecting me. 
His owner returns. Apologetic, a stay in his farm hotel is offered. I accept. The room has chocolate bars everywhere. Everything has a paper label tied to it. A cat sits atop a chest of drawers, very happy to see me. I decide to shower. The bathroom is huge, bedecked with flowers, water flows like rain from a shower head. 
I look out of the window. A dead cetacean lies in shallow water. A fisherman suckles on its dorsal fin. Behind me, MS enters with his dog, I tell him to use the showers first, and return to my room. 
I left the door open, and now, other guests, passing on the way to the shower, are helping themselves to my chocolate. I shoo them out. I cuddle the cat. Behind me, a short black woman comes in, fondling my buttocks. The cat tells me I’m irresistible. 
I turn around and hug the woman. She steps back, produces and electro mandolin, and leads everyone in a version of a song called “Stand Up”, that I’ve never heard before.
I feel very loved, and valued. 

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