Public Inconvieniance

I’ve often been told don’t shit on your own doorstep, but never did I imagine it was a necessary instruction. The estate I’m living in is a bleak, high rise, council block, so communist I think of my neighbours as comrades. It’s the kind of place you imagine getting cancer and begin to chain smoke to cover up the smell. A few days ago I opened the lift and nearly blacked out at the stench of vomit. As I live on the sixth floor, and to me, exercise is as foreign as a call centre, I held my breath and stabbed at the button. It didn't work, halfway up I had to take weird, short, sucky nasal breaths for the rest of the ascent. It took two whole days before the caretaker cleaned the mess up, and by lunchtime day two, I was taking the stairs. Finally it was scrubbed clean, aired out and disinfected, and I enjoyed two vertical trips of hygiene, before someone vomited in the exact same corner. Not only that, but someone else also pissed in the corner in an attempt to either compete or fragrance the scent. I mean guys, come on! You live here! Maybe I should just install a toilet roll holder in the lift and deal with it.