The Death of Imagination

Okay, this is too weird not to share: It was raining when I arrived home today, so I came to the front in order to have a little shelter while I pulled out my keys. In the entryway, I noticed a familiar rank odour. So I started poking around. We keep a plastic trashcan there for disposing of all the flyers and unclaimed newspapers that pile up. There was a firm plastic mesh bag in it and in that bag, covered up in toilet paper, were faeces. Human faeces, as near as I could tell from a cursory inspection. Not in a nappy, as I first thought, but loose. Naturally, I had to tell monshu immediately--and send him down to check for himself, just to confirm that I wasn't imagining this.

How did they get there? A year ago, when the door wasn't closing properly, there would've been no mystery. But ever since the door was repaired, I haven't found it ajar once. Could someone have been buzzed in? We know that some of our condomates are deplorably lax about ascertaining the identity of people before they left them in. (More than once we've had to chase out solicitors who buzz one door and then go straight to another.) But that's some cheek, to buzz into a building before defaecating there, right? I guess we should be thankful they used a bag rather than just leaving it in the middle of the floor? That's probably the weirdest twist: Who on earth is that neat about leaving shit behind?