When he got drunk he told me the toilet project was a load of shit. It was really just them writing people-they-didn't-like's numbers on toilet walls and offering blow jobs on their behalf. He'd started off with some proper fuckers who deserved it. But he'd ran out ages ago and spent most of his time twisting the smallest perceived slights into reasons for putting numbers up there. Only today he'd written his mom's number in the toilets at Hyde Park and offered 'filching' on her behalf. Then he erupted into tears and told me all about his book, which was a sci-fi novel about a guy, not unlike himself, except with a massive wang that could tell the future.