The causeway was deserted that fateful friday morning, the group of 3 that had been fishing all night couldn't have left at a better time. As the peristaltic pressure built in our hero's gut, and a dank gleam of perspiration glistened on his forehead and neck, his eyes grew frantic, darting to and fro, searching for the location of his impending befoulment.
With a throaty roar of triumph and relief, and the only witness to the horrible spectacle a great blue heron standing ankle deep in the nearby brackish waters, our protagonist mouthed a silent word of thanks and apology to the innocent stand of palm trees and scrub grasses to which he had literally laid waste.
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