Everything here is small and expensive. You can’t afford anything. Not a car, not a speck of dust swirling around rooms, filled by the light of a late day. You have shaved and waxed all skin off. Now smooth and ignorant. You still could have worked harder. You could always work harder.
They gather in flocks. The subordinate and aspiring ones prettily biding their time. They hang around, attentive, there to be recognised. Everything cool, everything sophisticated.
No method is absolutely hygienic, but they will perform this most necessary act with tact and taste.
After having starved all day you are nothing but air. Lean and ravenous. On soft paws, an arch in your back, you steal around at the edges of the scene, wakeful eyes, wary that they might notice you, but they won’t.