Three years ago I shat on a bench at the Mt. Washington light rail station. It was a magnificent turd, firm yet still very moist. Not nearly as fragmented or lumpy as other logs I've laid on other benches in the Baltimore area. A single, perfectly smooth turd with not a kernel of corn or piece of nut visible. It has a strong scent of chicken wings, feta cheese and peanut butter and glistened proudly in the moonlight.
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