I’m Felix -Sweet & Low

My name is Felix. I clean up.

I’m here all week. I live here. These boys are messy. I sweep, mop and vacuum. I’m here to do what needs to be done. If the windows need attention, I do the windows.

These two, Myrus and Paul, challenge me. I observe and respect the confidentiality of housekeeper and client. They do give me pause, they provide unique situations.

My teeth will grow back. Myrus says just like hair and nails.

I’m not sure I believe him but there’s work to do. Paul just stares at me sad.

These two are a handful. No one would believe what I have to deal with.

That’s why I’m here. I bat cleanup. I’m the fixer.

I keep a whole grip of supplies under the bathroom sink. I store the the bleach in the garage next to the washer and dryer. I keep a backstock of gloves, sponges, paper towels and trash bags in various places around the house.

My man Myrus shows up last night. Before I even get started he washes up thoroughly. A shower and bloody clothes in the bathroom trash with a plastic liner already in place. He’s pretty smooth. He works with me. There’s a gore and brain festooned tire iron in the trunk. I take care to deal with these items methodically and deliberately. The trunk of the car gets an exhaustive cleansing and a twiceover.

I got a burn barrel out back. I toss full cans of hairspray in whenever I find them. They sound like a shotgun blast. Of course the clothes, but then the iron after I’ve cleaned it. I pull it out the next morning before the sun and after it’s cooled. I toss it back in a clean trunk. There is no cleanse like fire.

Then I do a little shopping. Beer, whiskey, gin, tuna, good bread, tomatos and avacados. Total cereal with raisins and two percent milk.

No cat food this week. Sad. I really liked the little fucker but I’m not about to get in the middle.

Both my roomates are fucking crazy. One think’s he hears shit all the time and the other is unpredictably violent. We all like the same food though. Ballpark smoked white meat turkey franks and bowtie pasta. Classico sauce, onions, butter, pinenuts, applesauce, peanut butter, hummus, various cheeses including sharp cheddar, Ding Dongs capers and grapefruit soda.

Al these items work pretty well for me despite my not having a tooth in my head. I like shopping but everyone in town looks at me weird. I imagine it’s because my lips are folded funny on account I have no teeth.

We all like salad but it makes each of us shit like a goose.

What I do is hold up my end. I pay bills, answer any correspondence, scoop the catbox when Paul gets a new cat and stay way out of the way. Paul’s been freaking out in the garage lately and Myrus has been killing everything he sees.

You can only see one other house from the kitchen window. It’s but a shack about a quarter mile down the road. I don’t think I’ve ever seen who lives there. The wind gets to blowing and you can’t see any evidence of civilization at all. Cars still rock down the two lane blacktop doing eighty plus.

Sometimes the wind inhales and whatever goes by shakes the house.

The telephone poles sway like loose teeth in an infected socket. I can feel the poles rocking back and forth in my gums.

It rained last night enough to muddy the windows.

I’ll be busy all day.

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