A Day in the Office

It was a sunny day in a leafy, well apportioned London street. Handsome three storey Georgian town houses queued patiently down either side of the road. A modern, glass and steel clad office block stood politely in line.

A hunched adipose form lumbered into the reception. The receptionist felt her chair pull towards him as his fleshy bulk curved the floor like a black hole curving space time. He was sweating profusely; he looked like Predators star Adrien Brody had been method acting for the elephant man. As rivulets of sallow sweat poured down his cellulite riddled cheeks, he wheezed seductively: "Can I use your toilet?"

She replied in a clipped professional tone that the office did not have any toilets for the general public. He felt stabbing cramps in his grossly over stretched rectum. He came close to regretting his seven breakfasts. In a brief glint of insight, he shuffled purposefully into the street to the nearest public rubbish bin, proffered his enormous backside from beneath his billowing moo moo and released the pressure.

Windows rattled to the vibrations. Relieved, he slumped back against the bin, slid to the pavement and fell into a deep sleep.