It was mighty uncomfortable when he felt…warmth between his…cheeks.
Ebern found this most entertaining. He laughed out loud and pointed and called to names of people Malcolm would never have thought of himself. “Oh, Ethar! Oh, Dolenna! Oh, the Gods of the Gods above and the Gods above them!” Ebern laughed and giggled and grinned and danced about, hopping from leg to leg and clapping his hands like a young child at an exhilarating puppet show.
It must not have been long while Mal stood there with his poop running down his legs because he could hardly remember anything other than the warm buttcheeks and frolicky dancing hobo.
“Well,” Ebern started, suggesting Malcolm respond, or something. “Ya can either stand there in yer filth and head back to work, or yer home, or wherever it is ya go at the end of the day. OR! Ya can come with me and…get paid, I guess. I’d be happy to do that. Three million…pretty much a no-brainer.”
Malcolm didn’t even need to move–he knew that he had no luxury of choice. What else were his options? Go back to his desk and work? Mal couldn’t do that. “Lead the way,” Malcolm said to Ebern, who never really was a hobo in the first place.