Brief Encounter in a Public Loo by Bruce Hodder

He was Irish and bladdered at 11 a.m.
in the next cubicle along from me
in the bus station. I could hear him breathing,
and I saw two security watching him
as I paid my twenty pence and rushed inside.
'By Christ that shook the plaster, lad,'
he said, when I let out a giant fart.
'Mate, what's your name?' he asked me
through the thin wall that divided us.
It was like we'd met on barstools at the pub.
I didn't ask his name. I’d come in for a piss,
not to make a paralytic toilet buddy.
'Fucking hell, that stinks,' he marvelled.
'Not being funny, you can't help your bowels.'
'Maybe I'll change my appetite,' I said.
'No, you can't help your bowels,' he laughed.
'Hey mate, it's funny, yours is coming out,
I'm sticking something up mine. Droll as fuck.'
'You're doing what?' I was in stitches now.
I'd never laughed inside a cubicle
when sober, not that I remembered.
'The station's full of cops,' he said. ‘I’ve got
shit on me. Have to hide it somewhere!'
I laughed again as I reached down and flushed.
'Okay, my friend. I hope your eyes don't water.'
'Nice talking to you. Have a blinding day,'
said the Irishman. He was staying in.
He sounded perfectly contented there,
and besides, he hadn't finished packing shit.

About Bruce Hodder:

Bruce Hodder lives with his wife Michelle in Northampton, England, the most statistically average town in the UK. He has been published in many magazines and online, most recently in ‘Winedrunk Sidewalk’, ‘Under the Bleachers’ and ‘The Rye Whiskey Review’.