-Dirty cunt- some might say.
Others, -when you gotta go, you gotta go-
The bus stops at the lights just as the geyser is squatting down against the wall, his jeans and underwear pulled far enough away to give his hole some breathing space. The steady stream of semi-solid brown matter starts automatically; it's like it's triggered when the cacks pass a certain point on his arse. The expression on his face is one of relief as he filters the seemingly endless procession of shit with his fingers, presumably to get rid of any chunks that may go astray, and wipes the resulting sludge on the wall. A few people are out and about, but nobody's that close to him. The bus offers the best vantage point. His head darts from side to side, but no intervention's gonna stop him now he's in full flow.
There's a bird sitting in front of me who shoots the bloke a glance, gags a little, and mutters -animal-
How do you take a shit love? The process is basically the same: assume the position, grunt a bit and let gravity do the rest. The only difference between you and him is that his fundament won't smell of roses afterwards (or whatever the fuck they put on bog roll nowadays), and you won't be clawing dried faetal matter from your ass hair until your next crap... comfort kills. And as for animal... it wasn't that long ago when we were hanging from branches flinging shit at each other. Unfortunately, with the passage of time, we have designed so many, more glamorous projectiles.
As the bus pulls away, it's not hard to see the irony: life has done to him what he has just done on the pavement.
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