Wendell begins to wipe up

The latest:

Eventually, there came a more pressing concern: Wendell had to go to the bathroom. Certain primal, physical needs were good at boxing in loose strands of thought, or just passing through them altogether, piloting through the asteroid belt of Wendell's mind and diffusing to the parts of his brain that made him stand up, walk to the bathroom, open the door, lift the seat. Certain primal, physical needs are beyond theory. When a volcano is erupting, no one tries to figure out whether a tectonic shift or mantle plume caused it. They're too consumed by fear of its output. This is what Wendell's galaxy of anti-psychotics had reduced him to - a gastro-intestinal Pompeii. Wendell sat in the confessional bathroom stall to take stock of his situation. The physical release was cathartic. A calm came over him. Bosons, birds, it was all bullshit. The point was to stay calm and assess the situation, two situations really. Too many birds here. Too many bosons in Switzerland. Serotonin flooded his synapses. He was confident, in control. All he needed was a plan. First, to disperse the birds.