I can hear it, yes, I can hear every sound. Can't interpret the words but the meanness transcend language and I can understand them screams.
It is as stink as the cussing of a cow-dung vendor-man living by a tannery.
It vicious like a vicissitude with long, sharp teeth and claws, biting and scraping the zinc up there.
I swear, it sound as if Mrs. Harry Dan is tramping up there, rollin' she eyes, foamin' at the corners of she mouth.
Or a zealot waging war.
No, no, don't tell me it is rain.
I know it ain't.
Okay, yes, it is rain, and I must stop being Cowardly-Cat cringing in a corner.
Yes, yes, I bring up me long boots to put them on so I can tread through the low-slinking water to open the gate.
This morning at 5 a.m. I wake up trembling with worry whether or not a snake could be hiding in one o' them boots...
...I did attack one the other day, y'know, it been in the garden, a leeel, tiny one. You never know, the snake family could be lookin' for revenge.
Aiye yai yai, what a kla-tastrophe on me.
I done drink me tea, the yalla enamel cup is cold. Now I must go cringe in the bathroom as I face a chilly shower, then wend me wonky way out...