We owned a small motel in central Minnesota for three years.
One evening, a youngish man hobbled into the office. There was a medical boot on his left leg. We checked him in, turned on the “No Vacancy” sign and went to bed.
Morning brought the usual work. I unlocked the door of the young man’s room and nearly threw up from the stench. He had killed a six-pack of beer, tried at some point to use the toilet. He missed. There was a huge, stinking, reeking circle of urine in the carpet.
I ventured into the bathroom and was startled to see the medical boot upside down in the waste basket.
I hope he made it home.