Page 86 - WTP Vol. VI #4

Jesus (continued from preceding page)
already. But why’s it leaking? Why? Why? Why? Why’s it leaking? Who did it? How? Why? Previ- ous owner? Unlikely to be—”
mud on my knife and I can’t clean it. Not all the water in the world will clean it.
“We’d do bathrooms,” I say. “Cut my teeth doing bathrooms. Plumbing.”
“I’ll tell him!” I say to Jesus in the form of a goat. “I will. I’ll do it. Just stop it. No more No more. And the blood. And the mold! And all the blood, it’s red.”
“Plumbing you say? Yes. But no. You said you don’t know plumbing. But bathrooms is plumbing, man. Isn’t it, man?”
And then he’s standing in front of me, Jesus’ sil- houette filling the back wall.
Jesus has grown ten times his size, his head scrap- ing the ceiling. The drop cloths, they’re folded up. Ten-gallon bucket of mud—closed. But there’s
“Fifty this time?”
It’s me. It’s me. Cracked the fitting. ME, ME, ME!