and for a certain fleeting moment he found himself all showered with an idea of a story.
one story he thought that could make him rich and famous.
the shower’s lukewarm water could have been a factor for the evaporation of the few drops of creative juices from his mind.
he knew he should be responsible of the untimely exit of this creative thought.
he was careless to have not noticed the thought’s exit from his discombobulated mind.
he allowed himself to be easily drowned by the pleasures of the sporadic visits of the muses of creativity.
realizing the escape of a precious moment that seldom happens, he gaped for air to calm the rapid beats of his heart beat.
he opened the window, scanning the perimeter of the garden in search of the professional thief.
he thought of the thief as somewhat like a succubus, or perhaps a doppleganger disguised as one of the muses.
the dry grass of the garden was instantly showered by the drips of water from his naked body.
the lonesome mud caught his hasty foot as they ran in random directions around the garden.
he never stopped running on all directions until he was tripped by an old acacia root.
he fell on all fours, head first, on the already muddy grass.
maya birds from the tree got tired of gazing at his fall so they flew away in random order leaving him drenched in the mud-coated grasses with a few dead worms under.
he first opened his eyes, staring blank at the already dead grasses.
thinking that he might caught the thief by playing dead, he remained in that position until the sun was positioned near the west horizon.
when all the dried mud on his body cracked like the dry soil during el niño, he rose up and went again to shower.
he turned the dial clockwise as usual and he drowned himself with the steam and hot water.
as he saw the washed out mud from his body, another story came into his mind.