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  • Writer's pictureVoita

The factory turned into a busy hive (APd8)

And thus began third morn of the monsoon's solo, for it hasn't stopped pouring and we haven't sighted the sun since Friday's grill-or-be-grilled party. I think I'm slowly turning into a bog swamp monster, rotting from the inside and outside at once. AP averages 110 inches of annual rainfall, a good 40 inches more than Japan, where I nearly drowned on daily basis for most of my 8 months long trip across the country. (NYC sits at 40-50 in.) Lack of water is the last thing people here are afraid of.

let it rain...

We left the house shortly after feasting on another 5 course breakfast. A feast even if half of the dishes were leftovers from yesterday's dinner. But unless you spend at least an hour preparing a meal, it's not worth eating and barely receives the demeaning title of fast food.

It is not a good combination as my bowels only stirred to activity an hour afterwards, when we were already safely deposited in the warehouse. Driven by the desperate urge to defecate I dashed out to dance with the rain drops. Further pressed by this artistic expression skilfully mixing joy of life and oneness with nature, I found the factory grounds' outdoor bathroom seemingly out of order, with wooden planks of various degree of decomposition strewn all around the little cubicle. I felt I had no choice but to hit the outdoor in the earnest.

Slinking by a cement wall, I headed for the few shrubs struggling for life on the far border of the otherwise flat and low-cut area. To my great surprise, I encountered a giant hole in the ground, barely stopping myself from sliding down into its muddy maws. To my greater surprise still, I realized I wouldn't have been the first one to do so.

From the bottom of the all but forgotten death trap stared at me a pair of pleading eyes. The dog was soaking wet, shivering from the constant rain and just about to bark its last. He didn't bark, or exert much activity at all, accepting that his days of local chicken hunting had reached their fin.

ready for some welding

improvised main switch

the real deal

real head scratcher

After we pulled him out and Kabom yelled him away - the dog belonged to neighbours and was indeed sneaking over to hunt chicken - I made the second major mistake of the day.

I approached with my temporarily forgotten, yet now back in full force, concern Mone, Katon's friend, relative, teacher and the factory's main shareholder.

She instantly declared the toilet on premises, which I was later told is available simply by shuffling few planks around, not worthy my buttocks... and called on Kabom to drive me to another relative's house to perform with dignity and adequate to my stature.

And so the whole factory has learned what am I up to.

If your bowel movements are anything like mine, surely you're painfully aware that such exposure is the best possible constipation trigger known to man. But I was pushed into a corner. After a 10 minute drive quite literally, in the cousin's bathroom.

seems eating isn't this guy's only passion / PET preform

Victorious, back in the factory, I received a small ovation.

In a sense it was for rescuing the expiring animal, the sole reason of the universe's inconsiderate breach of my privacy and internal processes.

my workspace

in search of a good lassi

smoking out fleas from a bear hide

With the universe appeased and the poor dog spared, the day has proceeded to pour out its bitterness, while work in the factory carried on at a steady, uneventful pace. This opened a window for me to lay groundwork for the impeding culmination of my tour de Himalaya, subsequent steps and putting to paper some of my favourite The Godfather of Kathmandu quotes. May you be enlightened and entertained for the day to come!

Remember to send a heart and share this story with your friends also blessed with an excellent sense of humour.

shameless, honestly

breadwinner ---

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