Geoff poured cleanser into the toilet, then stepped back. His job was done. It wasn’t his bathroom.
“All I’m saying is that it can’t be that hard to move to where the food is,” Rick said as he moved in with the scrubber. He looked grimmer about the stain around the rim than thousands starving somewhere else.
Geoff leaned against the sink. “They aren’t growing enough food to begin with, a quarter of the continent is a spreading desert, and several of their countries are ravaged by strongmen and corrupt governments. It’s not a matter of moving to a nicer house.”
Rick scrubbed a little harder, grimacing as the foam sloshed around.
“Well then they should reform their government.”
“Their governments don’t care. They aren’t listening to homeless minorities. Is that really so surprising to you?”
“That’s avoidance. It’s cowardly avoiding--yugh!” Some toilet foam splashed against Rick’s jeans and he jumped back, almost toppling into the bathtub. He quickly rubbed at the wet spot with paper towels, then groaned like he was going to throw up, and ran from the room to change.
“Yeah.” Geoff looked into the toilet. It looked foamy enough for him. He dropped the lid and flushed the suds. “It’s all a matter of perspective.”
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