Hermor stared down at the grasshopper struggling in the toilet bowl. The porcelain made it hard to find purchase, so it kept falling back in, again and again.
“Just piss on it,” he said out loud to himself, although the homeless guy hiding in the next stall heard him, too. He looked up, concentrating – as counterintuitive as that was – but the sound of the grasshopper hitting the lid and splashing frantically was too much to bear.
He sighed, zipped up and walked out to the park. He returned with a small branch. The homeless guy in the next stall heard him walking back in, and lifted his feet up again to hide.
Hermor lowered the branch within reach the grasshopper’s reach. “Grasshopper,” he thought. “This must be your lucky day.”
The grasshopper paused, almost as though he’d understood. Then, it clambered onto the branch and Hermor brought him outside. It shook its wings, ran its forelegs over its head, and hopped away.
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Hermor smiled. Then a crow swooped to the ground, swallowing the grasshopper in one gulp. And a split-second later, the crow was swallowed under the guard blade of a riding mower driven by a drunk park attendant.
The colour drained from Hermor’s face; his shoulders slumped.
“Jesus, mister!” said the homeless man, now standing next to him, a single tear on his cheek. “If I’d pissed on that grasshopper when you asked me too, would you have let that crow live?”
