Vidal had the smell of success and he knew it. As he oversaw his bounty of portable human waste huts he would catch the eye of passing women and offer a smile. He may not receive it back but he could feel he had their red hot respect, a feeling that drove him. Years ago his girlfriend at the time thought he was crazy for selling their living room furniture to buy a well-used outhouse. He spent weeks refurbishing the unit, scrubbing each nook and cranny with purpose, every stroke of his toothbrush one step closer to success.
Even when his love left him in the middle of the night Vidal remained vigilant. He rented out the unit at the Festival of Tiny Ponies and made his money back along with $28 to spend any way he saw fit. He bought a burned out unit, then a trio hit by a drunk driver. Soon Vidal had over 400 towering toilets, all clean and ready for whatever came at him. He was riding high, a new car, a fancy condo, and three serious girlfriends. He was beaming the night it all came crashing down, as he emptied his units into the reservoir. An eagle-eyed sheriff busted him and before Vidal knew it he was locked up and facing 398 charges of fouling up the town’s water supply and its citizens respective digestive systems.
Now Vidal spends his days wondering where his cash cow babies are as he stares into his cell’s chipped and stained porcelain crapper. The smell you sense now is one of injustice.