Jay

The sphincter was losing the war.

I looked around, my eyes locked into the urinals.

No, too public.

Then the glorious sight, the cleaner's cupboard.

I don't think anybody picked the cleaner's cupboard for the end of this story.

Tucked in the corner of the door was slightly ajar.

I threw open the door, saw the mop bucket, and made a split-second and life-altering decision.

I bent over that bucket, and I emptied the entire contents of a London curry house into the cleaner's bucket.

I wasn't just shitting.

I was pissing out my ass.

It was a total watery cascade.

And however, I'm not a complete heathen, mind you.

I used the paper towels in the cupboard to wipe my shitter, bagged the lot, and placed the soiled evidence discreetly on the top shelf.

then fucked off toward my car, was I bollocks hanging about.

However, the guilt kicked in.

I pictured the cleaner's face.

I had to go back.

I just had to go back.

I walked back into the stench-filled room, and the scene was, well, cinematic.

The smell was gut-wrenching, a noxious cloud of fermented spices and regret.