Across homes everywhere in the sprawling bubble of suburbia signs are showing that hope is still alive. If I just press this tube on the counter top’s edge, a bit more paste may yet crawl onto my toothbrush. I’ve trained for this. Others say it’s a physical impossibility to squeeze out more…but I’m not others, or else I would refer to myself as ‘other’ since I would BE an other and not myself. That’s just confusing. I feel like Leonidas as a boy from the movie ‘300’ when facing off against the wolf. I expect a triumph when I return back to my bedroom and my cape better be this neato metallic red color.
Toothpaste trials of a suburbanite.