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phil
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A curiously glowing thing. In a curiously dark corner. In a daylit street.
The poo stink was probably just something in that potted plant in front of the restaurant, you kid yourself.
You had to move closer, testing the odor once again with nostrils flared, before the subtley hooked wind caused you to pause and back away.
You turned onto a young innocent passer-by.
"Hey kid look at this neat rock I found!", your voice carries many meanings across.
Enticed to venture a look the lad is delighted to find accurate your description; after witnessing the abusive rampage of his drunken father, life had revealed it's good side.
At least that was before the instrument of all destruction, desire, curiosity without expectation, the soft mush, and nothing with which to wash off a glowing crap smear which is settling deep down into the pores of his nubile flesh consuming this flame of joy, was yoinked from the corner. The realization took 2.2 seconds after initially grabbing.
"Ah this stinks!", he pouts angrily, loudly, as you head out of the way of that glowing crap hand and into the rush, where, free to revel in the treasurous memory of a little boy's tounge lunging as excitement turned jarringly into a firm frown and a smile reversed in disgust, you feel heightening waves of delight being sent through your heart beaten breast, driving laughter insanely from a deep dark pit of your uttered soul, wicked and windless, is your reward.
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