Bolt of Relief
For 20 years, Harold Jenkins followed a ritual so bizarre, so utterly ridiculous, that not even his wife believed it. Every morning at precisely 6:17 a.m., Harold would shuffle into Stall #3 at the Maple Street Cum & Go, unzip his fly, and pee—directly—on a rusty, crooked bolt sticking out of the floor near the toilet base.
This wasn't just some random aim, mind you. Harold had perfect accuracy. He treated that bolt like a sacred target. Rain or shine, sickness or health, Taco Tuesday or bad gas Friday—Harold never missed.
One day, on a whim (and because his phone had 2% battery left), Harold snapped a photo of the bolt, mid-splash. The angle, the lighting from the flickering fluorescent bulb, the golden arc—it was, strangely… artistic.
He uploaded it to a random online photo contest called "Moments of Modern Life." He titled it: "Bolt of Relief."
Weeks passed. He forgot about it. Until a call came from an art collective in Berlin.
“Mr. Jenkins? Your photo—it speaks to the human condition. The loneliness of repetition. The resilience of routine. The… urine of the soul.”
Next thing Harold knew, he was on a plane to Europe. His photo was blown up 20 feet tall and displayed in the prestigious Urbano Gallery of Contemporary Vision. People wept. Critics wrote think-pieces with titles like "Piss and Persistence: A Meditation on Modern Masculinity."
Harold—simple, bladder-reliable Harold—became a sensation. He was knighted by someone unofficial, invited to TED Talks, and asked to autograph urinals around the world. He even sold a limited-edition coffee table book called “20 Years, One Bolt.”
Still, to this day, when asked what inspired him, Harold simply shrugs and says:
“Well, hell… it was just a funny-lookin’ bolt. Figured I’d aim at it.”
