This piece is about a man who really needs to visit the bathroom and has a religious experience.
Underground locomotion skidding at maximum capacity. The train segments turned one at a time with a slight successive delay, causing the passengers to sway sideways in their seats. A drop of sweat visible on the forehead of a pale man named West. The tunnel squeeze was visceral and walls stretching, only at his discretion, ad infinitum. Within soil eating dirt, an earthworm had to sooner or later be in the light of day and do you know what soil is made of? Whatever next station was, West was either dying or getting off. Zealous and miraculous clenching as the station was approaching. He stood up and kept his face as intact as he could. A psychological launch procedure begun; three: door slid open, two: he stumbled onto the platform, one: oh fuck. The escalators like mudslides and people cascading and West with chaos within headed into the chaos without. It was soon about to emerge but he clenched harder to the point he could no longer feel his face.
He made it: the metal door marked by a black stick figure in a wheelchair. It was one of those public toilets where you did not have to pay anything, with implied condition and clientele. He was of respectable status - an art director for an advertising agency which was apparent on his look, a dark blue blazer in contrast with small ear extensions, beard and a flat cap and now West had to risk the optics of entering such foul place. So he opened the door and the white throne was standing shiny, tall and proud, but only due to how dirty the rest of the restroom was. With every passing sequence the will of the load exacerbated, his ass finally touched the white rim and just as he was about to release he glimpsed another ass, although clothed. An alleged male human with torn jeans and sneakers. He was on his knees and waist up stuck inside the wall. West probably had dropped a bit of the load but quickly undid the work, by sucking it back into his body.
“Uh... what the?” West asked.
“Is there anybody out… or in there?” the voice was muffled by the wall but made it through coherently enough.
“Sorry but I really have to… Ugh... I cannot keep it anymore. I didn’t know anybody would be in here. I’m so sorry” a barbarous cluster reminiscent of grindcore reverberated through the handicap toilet.
“Dude! Like that is so disgusting. And rude”.
“What am I supposed to tell you -- sorry, I had no choice…”, for a second a silence befell the room and to camouflage the next wave West continued, “and uh, so what are you doing in there?”
“Fuck you”, the man in the wall responded. West reached for some paper and fumbled with it while looking at the man’s ass poking out of the wall.
“There must’ve been some dairy in that pastry I had at my client’s office. I asked if it was lactose free but I guess my client was ill-informed and...”.
“Why do you keep on talking, man? I don’t need to know. Just let me enjoy this”.
“Do you believe in God?”.
“I wouldn’t say so, no”, West rolled his eyes at this question while responding.
“You are a fool because this restroom wall is the only thing separating you from God. A divine celebration of luscious colours is residing here, cherubs like rainbow waterfalls touching my skin and I can hear a siren’s perfect pitch etc.. It reminds me of an aurora. The beatitude is coursing through me and there you are interrupting me with your lactose intolerant ass. God does not judge but I am”.
“Shit man, what are you on? LSD?”. Sound of toilet paper wiping.
“I am Adam and nice to meet you,” he responded.
But it was true, God leaned in and rested an ear against the restroom wall. Chubby cherubs whispered words akin to eternal bliss and waves of auroral joy bathed the torso of Adam hanging into the divine realm. Adam was of dark hair, symmetric and a kind face and his skin looked abnormally healthy. The breath of God was audible through the restroom. Adam’s connection to the divinity made him sense some type of synchronicity with God’s will and it translated into sympathy for West. God through the eyes of his creatures had seen West’s struggles on the train, how his face paled and gut twisted as he resisted the urge. West was a decent man for sacrificing his temporary well-being. Somehow that was one of God’s miracles - that man could withstand such pains on behalf of empathy and that humans were not shitting like animals wherever the instinct appeared. Truly transcendent behaviour. The breathing got heavier and it shifted to happy crying which freaked West out. God leaned in further as he wanted to come closer to the creatures and crashed through the wall. The embodiment and image of God translated into an older man with a neatly kept moustache and equally neatly kept slick back. His torso was hanging into the corporeal restroom. West decided not to pursue his bowel emptying any further and stood up, washed his hands and left the room. God looked to his left and saw the ass of Adam while Adam saw the ass of God.
This piece is about horrendous traffic, served with a soft serve.
Snow was whirling and the wind was blowing from multifarious directions. If you caught the snow scene at the right time it would look like a free floating soft serve. But of course without that sweetness. The children tried and concluded the free floating kind was not desirable. Tired drivers laid themselves to rest on the steering wheels after a long day. This caused the cars to sing a honking symphony and it was so terribly unsynchronized. Friday 17:30: one conditional problem with freedom is that it makes you unable to appreciate; even though being stuck at some job is way worse than being stuck in traffic, the desire for being elsewhere makes you unable to enjoy The Now and you frown upon relative minutiae rather than upon, you know, your shitty life or you just enjoy what you have. Anyway, the trick to get home was to not stop, the antagonistic ice caused a severe deficiency in grip. Then there was one prominent car and who knows what brand, there was just too much snow to tell. The parked car was detached from all the laws of symmetric traffic - geometrically skewed 28,93 degrees relative to the preordained lines of the street, that street that further on intersected beautifully and straight, 90/90 degrees across, probably a dozen times, before connecting the newly renovated highway. On this particular interstice between two intersections the cars were parked nicely but the discordant car blocked one particular Subaru and its owner was condemning a bit of everything. This man needed to get home to his girlfriend. It was his last weekend before being relocated to Bengalore, India for an engineering job involving sustainable energy. Fucking windscreen wipers were scraping.
Traffic was slow as half of the road was blocked and they took turns to pass. Every three minutes a car would lose its grip on the icy road which forced a driver to get out and into the snow and start pushing (which was usually the driver directly behind as it was deemed the most pertinent solution to everybody’s problem, while the rest were just to watch). Incapitated vehicles accumulated in lines on the lanes and a wife ordered her husband to check whatever was going on with that “fucking car”. It was locked and the handbrake employed. The husband scooped some of the snow away and looked inside. The dashboard was brimming with a variety of found vessels holding cigarette butts. From the rear mirror a miniature dream catcher hung and in the back seat a pack of condoms was longingly waiting.
“All because of one shitty car and who keeps a fuckin’ dreamcatcher in a car?” he cussed. GPS-technology eventually redirected the traffic and soon the congestion loosened up along with the whirling snow. The tow truck never made it in time; the owner of the obstructing vehicle made an appearance and together with him, a much younger attractive girl. She was laughing at his jokes which he made with animated gestures and lots of playful physical touch. They stepped into the vehicle and the wheels directly made full contact with the ground. Carefully the car left its improvised parking spot and the ones who were the most infuriated by the event were not even there to see it resolve, they were probably stuck in some other terrible intersection. Curses.