The Crossroads

The next morning, Zack stumbled out of bed and slogged across the soft carpet to his own private bathroom. Zipper, who had spent the night curled up against his legs, hopped off the bed and trotted after him.

“Good morning, Zipper.” Zack yawned.

He opened the bathroom door and heard gurgling.

He also smelled something foul. Like a three-week-old hard-boiled egg soaked in vinegar.

He wondered if maybe he had given Zipper too much bologna yesterday. Maybe he shouldn’t have let the dog lick his ice cream bowl after dinner, either. Maybe Zipper was lactose intolerant because, frankly, the bathroom smelled like somebody or something had spent the night in there farting.

Zack heard more gurgling. Maybe the whole house was farting.

The toilet seat chattered up and down and looked like the flapping bill of a porcelain pelican. With every flip of the lip, Zack heard more sloshing and bubbling in the bowl.

Then he saw brown chunky stuff come flowing out over the sides.

Gross.

Fortunately, there were two more bathrooms down the hall.

Zack just hoped those toilets weren’t puking, too.