No Dog S**t In The West End

Not on these streets. The good streets. More homeless men on these streets than abandoned dog shits. Is the plural of shit shite? You never have to check your shoes in these parts. What a privilege.

Takes a while to get used to, honestly. The lack of fear. Stepping wherever you want, and then you realise, “here, I’ve not stepped in dog shit for years!”. Literal years. It would ruin your day as well. Especially if you weren’t on your way home. You just had to deal with it. Look people in the eye whilst you deliver shit onto their floor.

“Do you want your receipt?”

“No thanks.” They’ll know I was here anyway; I have proof of my purchase. I’d like to return this; no, sorry, I don’t have the receipt, but if you remember, I’m the guy that caked the floor in shite. Caked in shite. My first experience of the ‘hilarious hungover mood’ was activated by the phrase caked in shite. It was at camping and I, still drunk, invaded my friend’s tent. Low and behold, it was I who was caked in shite. Not literal shite; I mean, maybe it was. A better story if it was. Who can be fucked washing a tent? They’d pack it up and forget about it. Then, they start getting set up on the next camping trip and realise their tent is…caked in shite! Aw, it is the best.

These streets, though, are pristine. Immaculate. Even leaves get swept. Winter pavements filled with grit for a gritless breed. This is for the people with nice shoes. Maybe this is why everyone here has such a smug face. The face of people that have permanently clean shoes. I wish I had a dog so I could allow them to shit on Byres Road. That would be my Joker-like rebellion. Allowing my dog to shit freely. That’ll teach them for respecting their environment.

It is a sense of reality that is needed here. Bring people down. Like pissing the bed. People here need to piss the bed. Piss the bed and stand on shit. Deal with that embarrassment. On one occasion smell like piss, and on another smell like shit. Smell OF piss. Smell OF shit. The embarrassment is so funny as well because it doesn’t make any sense. You feel as if you’ve shat yourself and that people will treat you like you’ve shat yourself. And guess what? They fucking do! They want you away from them, you’ve become a shite. There is also this weird fear that the person, the culprit, will somehow wipe the shit on you. That for whatever reason, their embarrassment is just strong enough that it would justify deliberately wiping shit on another human being. I want to live in that world.

Cheers? I guess. Thank you so much for reading this.