There are certain indignities involved in bathing in a bathroom sink. Nowhere to put your clothes, nowhere particularly clean to put anything, a handful of pre-soaped scrubbing pads, and a dripping faucet keeping you company.

Standing naked in the bathroom of the office where he's been sleeping, Wolf Johnson talks his way through another peculiar evening. Somewhere between washing up and contemplating the rather unfortunate circumstances of his existence, his thoughts wander toward Jack Kerouac, Umberto Eco, a thwarted ambition to study rhetoric at Berkeley, and an old high-school teacher who insisted that a paragraph must contain three sentences.

There's some business about refusing to play along, the comforts and consequences of being an outsider, and the strange ways adversity can sharpen our attention to otherwise inconsequential things.

And there's the dripping faucet. Always the dripping faucet.

An unhurried recording about whatever happens to come to mind, made in a bathroom that was never supposed to be anybody's home.

NIGHT MATERIALS

An online zine and a peculiar little world of its own.

https://nightmaterials.online/

Content advisory: Contains frank sexual language and a brief, audible climax during an otherwise nonsexual conversation.

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