As the traveler journeyed through the winding roads of the primitive shithole, his bowels began to grumble. He had heard horror stories about the squalid conditions of the local inn, but he was weary and in desperate need of a place to rest his head for the night. Upon arrival, he was greeted with a sight that sent shivers down his spine - a single outhouse stood in the middle of a filthy courtyard.
The stench immediately assaulted his nostrils as he approached the structure. Steeling himself, he pushed open the creaky door and was met with the most disgusting sight he had ever encountered. The wood planks underfoot were splintered and stained with God knows what, and the hole in the center overflowed with fecal matter. The only semblance of toilet paper was a few tattered scraps dangling from a nail on the wall. He would later learn that this was meant for wiping one's hands, not one's ass.
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to dispel the increasing nausea. He couldn't wait any longer; he needed to relieve himself. He lowered his pants and underwear, spreading his legs as wide as he could to get a better aim. The cool night air brushed against his exposed flesh as he let go, releasing a foul stream of urine into the swirling mass below. He felt a wave of relief wash over him - until he realized that the smell only intensified.
He finished up and wiped himself with the tattered toilet paper, feeling a growing sense of disgust at his own actions. There was no other choice; even if he wanted to wash his hands, there was no running water or soap in sight. He disposed of the soiled paper as best he could, kicking it away from him in disgust. He shuddered as he pulled up his clothes and stepped out of the shithole.
The innkeeper, a portly man with a grimy apron tied around his ample waist, greeted him with a toothy grin. "Welcome, traveler," he said, gesturing to the grimy room. "I hope you don't mind sharing the privy with the girl outside. She's gotta go too."
The traveler nodded mutely, thankful that he would not have to face the shit-bucket again that night. He stumbled into his room, laying down on the hard, straw-filled mattress. Sleep was fitful, dreams haunted by images of excrement and filth. He awoke in the middle of the night, his bladder aching once more. Reluctantly, he trudged back to the outhouse, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.
To his horror, he saw the girl from earlier, still squatting over the filthy hole. Her skirt was hiked up, presenting an inviting view of her plump buttocks, but he tried his best to avoid looking at them. He tried not to gag as he took his turn on the bucket, desperately hoping that the girl would finish soon. He made his way back to his room with heavy steps, too tired to care about the filth that clung to him.
In the morning, the traveler made a decision: he would forgo the inn's "services" and continue his journey. As he packed his things, he noticed a few locals gathered around the outhouse, laughing and pointing. One of them held up a piece of the tattered toilet paper, covered in something that looked suspiciously like feces. The traveler shuddered, knowing that he would never forget this place or the experience it had given him. With a renewed sense of vigor, he set off down the road, vowing to avoid such primitive shitholes in the future.
