Bathroom Monologue: Under the Tide

They looked at him funny when he came into work in his snorkel, his flippers slapping the polished tile floor. But you know what? They looked funny to him, all soggy, and airless, drowning without awareness that the whole city was underwater. After the manager took Dieter aside, he agreed to take the snorkel off when he was at his desk or in meetings with more than five people. He held his breath, occasionally sipping air from a bottle he hid in his jacket. His roommate thought buying a second fridge for all his empty water bottles (or to Dieter, full air-bottles) was ridiculous, but his roommate jerked it to cartoon porn, so he couldn’t argue about ridiculous. This whole city had crashed under tidal waves. It couldn’t judge him. He only tried not to judge it too harshly, the dead in denial, needing to snicker at his swim-floats straining over a winter coat. They needed it to cope.