Weeks in now and the wash finds dilution an unnecessary evil of the corporate stylings. Far less changes from the fixtures, but the squeeze a turn valves now dispense versions far lesser than their former selves.
Awash in a pathetic attempt to stand upright or even hold their own on a lathering table. Queasy feeling from the side as the burn enters with cold air and drying spots between wet. Foolish methods in order to generate the foam, the lather, the feeling of finding an easy out between the wall and the door.
That pain of struggle is for the leggy able, of those who choose to amble stairwells well over steps and slips.
Sidle in between the males and the females and it's a unisex version on wheels ruling space over the parties. There, in the squirt of old, where things remain as the same as differences will allow, a vision and texture splendour.
Of liquid soap thick enough, pure enough, just enough to make easier the ritual of washing after use. Always wash after use. Always makes it easier when the soap is kind enough to lather up.
Soon Van - Friday, 16 March 2007 - 22:13
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