The receptionist doesn't know it, but there's a trickle of piss running down my trouser leg. I'm lucky it's raining outside — if it reaches the floor, having first seeped through my shoes, I've got an alibi. Until the smell hits his nostrils, anyway. I sign the piece of paper and need him to hand over my room key before the trickle becomes a torrent. I don't want it to look strange that I'm heading straight back outside, so I tell him I'm going for a ciggie. I'd clocked the room number already and it just wasn't close enough.
I think I get away with it.
I head out into the rain, find a secluded corner of the car park, and piss into a hedge. Apparently I have a lot more to give. Mid-stream, some lights reflect off the wet leaves around me. It's the Old Bill.
Copper: Are you okay there, sir? Me: No. Copper: What seems to be the problem?
This is when he clocks the MAGA hat and the wristband, I think.
Me: Bill Gates and the Lizard people are going to enslave us all and I don't know if I can stop it.
Whatever they'd expected me to say, it wasn't that. I hadn't noticed Copper 2 in the passenger seat, but they exchange a look and seem to reach a mutual decision.
Copper: You have a good night, sir.
They fuck off bastard quick.
From the waist up I'm drenched in rain. From the waist down I'm drenched in piss. In for a penny, I think, and take a shite in my boxers while I'm at it. I squelch my way to the main road, lie down in front of an oncoming truck, and get the first line of Candle in the Wind out of my lungs before the cunt kills me.
