CLASSIC MADMAN

CHAPTER 2

He woke up to the morning sounds he was now accustomed to, the mixture of melodies which seeped through the thin air. The birds were chirping, singing different tunes. He listened to them with interest, trying to hum each tune upon recognition. He checked the ground and was delighted. It had only drizzled overnight. He didn't like it whenever it rained. He smiled to himself and scratched his head. He picked himself up from the grasses and moved some distance away, into a smaller room, to urinate. He pushed until he could feel that sweet sensation he was waiting for, that chill at the end of every piss that made him close his eyes and lose himself in a vain world of sustained ecstasy. He smiled when he was done, feeling quite sated already. He loved it, that sensation, especially now that he could not be with Martha - his woman, because everyone thought he was mad. He hissed to the thought and walked out to a corner of the room where he slept.  There, amongst the different items of metal, tin containers, wraps, clothing and the sorts, he brought out a detergent pack and poured out little on his palm. He picked up his water-bottle and looked at it, examining its contents. He had fetched that water from a clean flowing stream, no dirt, just some particles that were near invisible. He was proud of himself, even though other people would say he fetched it from a gutter. Why? He thought, maybe they were insane, the mad ones. The water was clean, fetched from a stream by the roadside that had two walls to support its flow and ferry its liquid to a designated place.
            He brushed his teeth with his index finger and when he felt some hard dirt, he pinched the earth for sand and used it. There was no need to bath, he had taken his bath the day before, besides, his routine would not allow for that. He took a bath every four days, and at night. He didn't like the Idea of all those street boys and some irate people who always stood to watch him bath at daytime. They loved taunting him, singing mock songs, and sometimes aiming at him with those rough stones they picked. So, he had to schedule his bath time, pushing it to the dark time at night when he would have the privacy and liberty he so much coveted. He just didn't understand other humans. They said they were sane, better than him, but he understood some  basic principles more than them. If not, how would someone stand to watch a naked person take his bath? He shook his head now and searched for what to wear. All his clothes were torn at numerous places and most were reduced to pieces of what they once were. It disturbed him at first, wearing torn clothes, but now, it didn't anymore. The latest fashion trend demanded it. He saw more people with torn clothes on the street everyday. Once, he heard someone call the clothing 'rugged jeans' and 'rugged shirt', and he laughed, wondering the sanity of such person who would wear torn clothes on the streets. He picked up a torn faded Jean and a half T-shirt to wear. He put them on with a faded face cap he was opportuned to pick from a refuse dump at one time during his cloth search. He felt himself for some moments, well dressed, he thought, on his all-star shoes which had ropes as laces. He was set to go. The daily hustle was to begin. He had no particular area in mind, but he was hungry, and he needed to deal with that first, stomach infrastructure.
"Anywhere belle face we deh go oh" he muttered to with a wry smile and walked out of his house to the morning sun.