I Poop New York

There is nothing more lonesome than eating a packet of mini cheese Ritz for dinner. But by 11 pm—-after a 9-6 in the office, followed by a shift at my second job selling books at author events—-I’m starved. I buy the crackers from the platform vendor while waiting for my train home. I cram the greasy disks into my mouth with germy subway hands. I am exhausted. I am beyond caring. Chewing, I watch the rats scurry in the tracks below.

My ride is exactly 1-hour long and at an hour where more normal people than not are tucked away in bed. Sometimes I can’t resist the compulsion to buy something to eat before I am home. Oftentimes my journey takes such an unappetizing twist that eating after it is out of the question.

For example, a man shit before my very eyes a few weeks ago. We were on the subway. It was late. Across the aisle from me, the man was badgering a woman for money. When she refused to give him anything, his tirade began.

He paced up and down the car, muttering: “I’ll show you! I’ll show you!”

After a time, the man stopped directly in front of the woman, popped a squat, and pushed. By some grace of God, he did not bother to remove his pants.

It’s rare that I ever see what a human face looks like whilst a shit is in progress. I don’t know many infants and my bathroom mirror is above my sink, not across from my toilet.

When defecating, the human brow furrows, then eases. The mouth puckers, then smiles. The smile is not big nor toothy, but a relaxed expression. It is a self satisfied grin that simply says: I pooped.

When his crap was fully expelled, the man exhaled as if in a soda commercial, although I doubt the steaming load in his pants was carbonated or refreshing. I do not have to tell you how bad this smelled.

After, the man sat down between us on the subway floor, laughing. The woman and I changed cars at the next stop, leaving him to fester—-the only pair of pants he owned filled to the brim with shit.