Riding home the other night, I passed a man on Redfern street squared up to a shop door. It was very late and there was no one else around. His belt was undone and his pants were loose at the rear. A stream of urine was hosing out from his front side, drenching the lower part of the door and running down frothily past his shoes to the gutter. I couldn't help but admire the sheer animalism of the situation. Bladder to brain: GO. Brain to hands: GO.
(I think he might've had a couple.)
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