a short urinary tale
Tony Bottom struggled for a moment, and then was able to succeed in releasing, from his open fly, that part of himself necessary for the task. And with it in his hand, holding it adeptly, he stepped up to the open window and took a long, well deserved, piss.
“Ahhh,” he said. “Goddamn, that’s just what the doctor ordered.”
His stream of piss arced like trigonometry out of the window, and fell like a micturated monsoon, into a flower box just outside of the window below.
As it did, he looked across at the neighbouring wing of the building. There he saw a small Chinese girl watching, and snacking on dry Cheerios out of a small ceramic bowl with the painted image of a pale blue fish.
He smiled. There was so much in the world that people never took time to observe. And after failing to appreciate a moment, it was gone forever. He never wanted that to happen to him.
The little girl kept watching and snacking.
Tony Bottom lived in #526 of the Haro Street Manor. It was a grand old pile, next to the park, and built in 1906. He often thought of how fortunate he was to have such a wonderful abode, with such friendly neighbours. Life was good.
He continued to piss.
Felicity Warren lived in #426 of the Haro Street Manor, and was talking on the telephone when she saw a stream of water, falling from above, onto the Portulaca grandiflora and Sanvitalia procumbens in her flower box.
Emily Wickerson was on the other end of the line, and the two of them were discussing actions they could take to press government to implement equal wage for equal work legislation for women.
“Emily,” Felicity said, “you’ll never guess what’s happening again.”
“What?” said Emily Wickerson.
“That man above….”
“He’s not…!” Emily Wickerson said.
“Yes,” said Felicity, “he’s doing it again.”
“You have to do something, Felicity,” said Emily Wickerson.
“I’ve told management.”
“They spoke to him,” Felicity said. “He denied everything. So now, the manager says someone else has to witness it happening.”
“You live facing the courtyard,” said Emily Wickerson. “You’re surrounded by other apartments. Surely someone, other than you, has seen him do it.”
“I’ve asked everyone. Most are at work during the day.”
“Oh dear, there must be something you can do.”
“I don’t know what,” said Felicity. “I’ve knocked on his door and demanded he stop. But he told the manager I was harassing him, so I can’t do that anymore.”
Felicity Warren watched forlornly as her lovely plants danced in the fountain-like stream from above.
Meanwhile in #526, Tony Bottom shook the last drops off and zipped himself up.
The little Chinese girl, across the way, was deadpan as she chewed her Cheerios. And now that Tony Bottom had zipped up, her mother, Mrs Chan, came to stand next to her. Mrs Chan ran her fingers lovingly through her daughter’s hair. She smiled, and waved across the courtyard at Tony Bottom. He stood there happily, innocently taking in the fine spring day, and he waved back.
Then the little Chinese girl looked up at her mother, and said something. The mother listened patiently and then looked across at Tony Bottom. He waved again, smiling, as Mrs Chan’s expression changed from contentment to venomous incredulity.
When Tony Bottom received his eviction notice, he called his mother in Moose Jaw. She had a mother’s empathy, but when he asked, she said he couldn’t come live with her. So, instead, he took a job as a lighthouse keeper at the Pulteney Point Lighthouse. There, he proved himself an exemplary keeper of his lighthouse, and married a woman named Ethel in 1955.
They lived happily, and kept the lighthouse together, until 1964, when Tony Bottom mysteriously fell out of its highest window.