He followed through into his own jodhpurs, the warmth of the preceding gruntwind compounded by the hot solidity of his luscious excreta, and the fine, hand-woven beige cotton assuming a dark, almost worrying brown hue from the turd, which was pressed in thoroughly thanks to his sudden sitting motion and the subsequent hour of demented twerking as the radio blathered about an aeroplane ‘hitting the Pentagon’ (as if).