Our downstairs toilet mostly behaves. But I have learned to listen. Listen for the water refilling the tank; I've learned the duration of a tank fill by means of a mental stopwatch. It has become most precise.
Our downstairs toilet mostly behaves. Believe me, I've tried slow depressions of the lever, leaning to one side, making a ju-ju grimace and hoping for the best. There is no rhyme. There is no reason.
Our downstairs toilet mostly behaves. It is a finicky, if altogether non-personified, beast. The chain is the culprit. It has a weak link. Yet, I am weaker. That much is apparent.
Our downstairs toilet mostly behaves. When I am here, to hear, I can catch it. Lift the lid and correct that dastardly link -- the last before the flapper. Tonight I thought, Why use a chain at all? Why not a single filament of something reliable like kevlar core fly line backing? Or bailing twine? Or dental floss. Links bind. Why?
Our downstairs toilet mostly behaves. Its chain is defective. But the chain is bound. It is smarter than me. So, I listen.