A bucket of water tips from the open window, its ochre contents emptying on the man in white shorts.
The man who has upset the bucket of rainwater is oblivious to the flood of curses from the dripping man below, his boxers permanently dyed and clinging to the contours of his buttocks.
His eyes are intent on his duty, set on the ground. His hands move without thought, bailing water from his apartment.
His apartment is "rent free". It has been so for as long as he can remember. No one asks questions when anyone appears in the building with walls green with algae. No one speaks when one neighbour disappeared, the darkness in their window replaced by candlelight lit by another the next day.
They live in silence. That is why he did not cry out when the howls of the wind shook him up from sleep. His roof lifted off along with the ceiling, two lovers refusing to be separated. And all he could do was stare as his life went to ruins. The leather bag that housed his meagre belongings unable to keep out the rain, turning worn-out clothes and faded pictures into a disastrous wet mess. The only sound is of teeth chattering in the cold.
He sets the bucket by the window once more. The water on the ground gone, the floor slick with smells of poverty and helplessness. He sinks to his knees and screams. It is silent. It is directed to the heavens. For a second the birds stop, wings suspended in shock at the words of a mortal to a god.
But the world moves on as it always does. On the third day, he stops wheezing from water in his lungs, his body slipping into stillness.
The room goes dark for a day and by night a new candle is lit.
