At that moment, Kyle opens the door. He sniffs, then looks at the table, then at you.
“What the fuck?” he says.
“That’s exactly what I said,” you say. “But I wasn’t here. It wasn’t me. It was one of them. Belladonna or Tangerine or 4REAL A.C. or Marco diAntonio LaPizza. And I’m about to make the big reveal.”
“Huh?” says Kyle. “Who?”
“Come on,” you say, pointing to your flatmates. “All of our flatmates. The only other people in this study room.”
“There’s no one in here but us, idiot,” says Kyle. “We live alone, ever since Chloe moved out. I left you in here and went to the bathroom and you shat on the table? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
You look down and realize that you are completely naked. You sink to the floor for a moment and breathe deeply. Then you get up and begin scooping up the pieces of poop from the table with your hands. It is messy work, and thankless, but someone’s got to do it.