Love-Jerky on a Turdsday

Thursday, 4:50pm, practically no light save for streetlighting, illuminating drizzle which despite being as thin as Mackenzie Crooke, was as wet as John Redwood (though certainly taller). I traipsed in an almost trance-like state, having become numb to the persistent elbow-shoulder bashing of passers by and cold rain precipitating dog piss child tear jock spit sweat teacher breath onto my lips. Licking them, I could taste all these things, salty and dead.

Times like this, I find, call for a decent fatal accident or nearby baby-snatch (noun-verb, for clarity). Something to break the monotony, to tell my wife when I get home, to make myself FEEL GLAD that I am not a motorcyclist spread across three lanes in the rain. But alas, no such unluck on this occasitide.

Then, as I approached the tube station, something in the visible current of the human traffic caught my eye. The very definite split of multi-velocitêtes was wider in the middle than necessary. The flow of heads to the right, heading into the station, parted from the flow of heads to the left, who similarly parted from centre identi-magnetically. THEY WERE AVOIDING SOMETHING.

MOVEMENT AWAY=AVOIDANCE
AVOIDANCE=NEGATIVE PRESENCE
NEGATIVE PRESENCE=DISGUST
DISGUST=SOMETHING AT WHICH TO GAWP

I hurried closer to the spectacle, and as I did I noticed that the object of evasion was another person rather than a dead dog or piece of clean flooring. As the people-flow parted Red Sea-style, I finally caught a glimpse of my disgusti-Moses.

There, on the steps of the station entrance, was a man, clearly homeless judging by his state of dress, toothless and in a semi-squat, squeezing out a marvellous turd, trousers on, and the excreti-exit occurring through the right trouser leg. As I stood and watched, I saw people slipping on the moist ground as they were taken by surprise and nearly stepped in the man’s production. I became transfixed with his expression; he was grinning a tooth-lacked grin which showed his glistening but scabbed gums, and this grin was akin to the sort of grimace which a very short-sighted person might pull when trying to watch the television at distance.

But, most importantly, the expression on the man’s face bore a most profound expression of unbridled, honest joy and relief – even ecstasy – which I found both touching and arousing. I felt my heart punch me in the face with brutal appreciation and empathy for this pleasured man. I wished I could keep him that way – happy and oblivious – forever. I wanted to be a part of the man’s pleasure through simple, natural function. Something I could never do.

I reached home myself in a state of ecstasy, although this was fused with shame and heartbreak. My wife could see I was clearly distressed and asked me what on earth was wrong. I told her to pack her bags and go to her mother’s. It was over.