Good paper.

Not everyone can pick good toilet paper.

I can’t very well, neither can my youngest son. For me at least, I always seem to buy a large package, and by time it’s gone and I go to shop again, I can’t remember the brand I liked or didn’t.

My eldest son, he can pick good toilet paper. He lived with me for a while and towards the end, he bought a package. On this journey, I brought one of his rolls with me. It would be enough until I see him again I hoped.

This is not the only toilet paper I carry as I consider it too good to wipe my ass with. This is a square or two at a time toilet paper. Clean the glasses, blow my nose or wipe away a tear.

The mouse, BLiMey, blimey I’ll call him, also seems to be able to choose good paper. He chewed through half the roll. I found no signs of him yesterday, yet now there will be a nest. I pulled away the damaged portions; I will have to find a safe place for the good toilet paper.

Nine am my time here. Three hours to pack and leave. No extra. The site is reserved, will people coming to roll in at noon.

Time to move it or lose it.

Nine oh five.

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