Sounds of drumming. Sounds of marching echo in this giant metal bucket. This would hold lots of soapy-water. Drumming. Who's drumming? Do fools drum? Are they allowed to? Subject is putting his ear to the side of the bucket. It jostles and he hits his head. But he could drum. He can keep time, he thinks smugly. He can keep time to a drum, and time could drum if he got confused. But it didn't matter if fools could drum.
He is a test now, he thinks while he stretches out, then trying to lie down inside the rolling bucket. No yellow aprons, no, now a blue pretty-suit. It felt good being a he, not an it. A test, not a fool. Subject, not Trash. But these were only vague thoughts in Subject's tiny head. He was busy wondering where the soapy-water was.
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