THE DROPPER
I stand on a ledge hundreds of metres above the ground, looking out beyond the precipice. Below lies not Arkham City nor Metropolis, but an enormous en suite dominated by a toilet that could double as a skate park. Pink loo roll hangs from the holder, the size of hay bale, and white tiles cover every surface except the ceiling, which extends all the way up to my vantage point.
The aim is to hit the one spot that will safely break my fall – the rancid swimming pool right in the middle of the toilet bowl. Without enough momentum, I’ll splatter all over the mat, which is already patterned in a bloody red and orange, as if the owner were expecting the stain. If I overshoot,.
