A Den of Desperation.

The Following is not strictly true, I wouldn't dare talk about myself in such vile terms. None the less, enjoy.

I had been busting for a shit.
The cause of this shit, regrettably, was around fifteen cold Heinekens I had stacked on top of my small intestine the night before.
As usual it was Sunday morning, the sky was grey and the tourists where the only fresh-faced assholes out and about. I hated them, there was nothing to see in this place anyway, why not go to the South of France where something might be worth looking at?
I could see the state of myself in the eyes of these people. They looked at me with a mix of distaste and disgust. Then they looked away, they had seen enough. What did they expect? I drank fifteen beers and slept only two hours, I was still drunk.
There was no use in trying to find a semi-reasonable toilet, so I went for the nearest one. St. James station it was to be, in the corner of a sleepy Hyde park. It was the only place a shit as vile as the one I was about to part with deserved to be laid.
I shuffled, urgently enough, into the stall and shut the door. I laid as much of the thin, cheap toilet paper on the seat as I could, sat down and let it work itself out. Then the shit faded from my mind, I was at ease and there was only one place for it. I was too far off home to dwell on that so I began reading the graffiti that was scrawled on the walls, no doubt by winos and crack-heads.
‘For a good fuck call...’.
‘I fucked your mum’.
‘Hope you enjoyed your shit’.
I did. These fine inner-city gentlemen clearly understood the value of a word, and had a keen sense of audience.
The shit was gone and a pair of scuffed leather shoes hobbled into the neighboring stall. With them, a set of pant-cuffs and a sleek brown briefcase.
I wondered about my new neighbor, what brought him into this den of desperation? Would he enjoy his shit? The pant-cuffs weren’t joined by a belt, or a zipper, a pair of underwear or hip pockets. He wasn’t shitting.
The brief case was hoisted up and I heard the crisp snaps of it opening...