Poo Writer

One my way to work I take the 2 train. New carriages, no grafitti, dot matrix display for the time and what station is next, blah blah, they are pretty nice in all.
I walk to the end of my platform as usual, I always get a seat in that bum carriage.
The train arrives.
I step on and sit down.
It takes a while to register, but there is an unpleasant smell. It begins to increase the longer the doors are shut. I look around for a vagrant, there isn't one. Just me and about 5 other commuters.
I keep looking around for the source, it's not a high note smell, it's all base. A low note of stench, one that sticks around, laying low but very much there.
Then I see it, on the floor.


Skidmarks of mud... How does mud get in a train, especially when there is snow everywhere, hang on... That's not mud. That's poo. You can see that someones shoe got a sole load and they had tried to scuff it off. My eyes followed the scuffs, clues to the disgust that must have exploded. It was then that it appeared, like one of those magic pictures that you had to go cross eyed to see.
The person must have had a sense of humour, or perhaps they just thought they could express themselves in this moment of grossness.
There in fading poo and linoleum scuffs.
I (heart) NY (and very faint 'C').
Poo York, Poo York.