Gladys was pooping.

“Hey lady, hey lady,” Stan the guard yelled from across the lot. “Lady, hel lo , what are you do ing?”

“You let me be, Richard!” Gladys wailed, tears spilling into the slush that formed beneath her, “Richard, ohhh Richard!”

“Lady, I don’t know who Richard is but you better stop doing that in my lot.”

She didn’t, so Stan walked over. “You’re lucky that’s a pothole, lady, all I’m sayin’, now you pull those drawers back up and get out.”

“I’m on the installment plan, Richard, the installment plan.” She began to grunt and a bloody pulp rocketed out from her rusty vortex. “Ohhhh Richard the oven won’t close.”

“God in Heaven, la dy you can’t just do this!”

She began to wail hideously when a moss green pick-up truck began honking.

“Let me in that spot, lady!” the driver yelled.

“Now just hold on, buddy, we’ve got a situ a tion here,” Stan pleaded.

Gladys took a handful from her nest and chucked it onto the truck, which blew past Stan and crushed her, totally.