When my boss, George Alejandro, came in to work this morning, he couldn't stop laughing. We found him a chair. Someone pushed a cup of water in his hands. Eventually, he calmed down.

"I had to stop by my cousin Yoselin's this morning. She left her sweater at my house. We had her over for dinner."

That's as far as he got. He seemed to want to say more, but his face bunched up. Instead of words, there was laughter. He slid from the chair. The water spilled.

We looked at each other quizzically. Which of us had ever met his cousin, Yoselin? Was there something wrong with her? Did she have a poor taste in sweaters?

Eventually, though, we got it out of him. My boss, George Alejandro, could only tell the story in stages. Each time he was able to get a little further before the laughter struck again, and - like a fish that had leaped from his tank - he flopped around on the floor at our feet.

* * * * * * * *

George Alejandro really had to go to the bathroom. And not the kind he could do standing up. The sudden and irresistible urge came as he was grabbing the door handle to his 2006 Ford Fusion. It was parked outside his cousin Yoselin's house in the suburbs.

Cousin Yoselin wasn't home.

He looked quickly left and right. The sun was shining brightly in a blue sky, bathing the colorful houses lining the street on either side in a rich, healthy light. His eye fell on the one across the street. It was small with a well cared-for front lawn. There were flowers. He seemed to recall an elderly couple lived there. Surely, they would be home!

He rushed across the street and scuttled towards the front door, being careful to stay on the cement walkway. Urgently, he pressed the doorbell. After a moment (were they hard of hearing?) he banged a few times on the door for good measure.

The waiting seemed endless. The only thought on his mind was how he was going to relieve himself of a few kilos of extra, unwanted weight.

Eventually, the door opened. A vaguely familiar, elderly woman peered out at him. Somewhere in the background he could hear a TV. "Yes?"

Quickly, he explained his dilemma.

"I'm sorry," replied the woman and began to close the door. "We have no water."

"Wait!" George Alejandro knew this woman's toilet was his only chance of preserving his dignity. Water or no water.

"The water's out," the woman repeated. "We thought you were from the water company."

"Do you have a bag?"

"Bag? Why do you want a -" Realization dawned on the woman's face. "Oh."

George Alejandro pleaded with her. Fortunately, the woman was kindly and took pity on him. She opened the door.

Inside it was dim and difficult to see. The windows had all been covered. The hallway and the room immediately off to his left were filled with dusty photos and various bits of junk - decorations in ceramic, vases, trinkets from a lifetime of accumulated vacations.

The TV blared through the open doorway. "- Banditry and other criminality. Purse snatchers in particular are a problem on the city streets -"

These details were, of course, lost to George Alejandro at the time. He only remembered them later. There was only one thing on his mind, and he needed to do it very badly.

The old woman brought him a garbage bag and showed him to the bathroom.

George Alejandro spread the bag over the toilet seat, made room for its eventual contents, and - there is nothing so pleasant as the sudden absence of pain! - relieved himself.

That was better.

A polite but firm knock came at the door.

"Yes?" George Alejandro asked as he was carefully tying the third knot in the top of the garbage bag. It was surprisingly heavy.

"My husband wanted me to remind you not to leave anything behind," the elderly woman told him. "Take out everything you brought in with you."

George Alejandro spent a few more minutes at his work. He did not want any unwholesome smells to emerge, especially if he'd be carrying the bag and its contents in his car.

He thanked the woman and her husband (whom he never saw). When he offered his hand, she did not take it, but he was not offended. George Alejandro was a very contented person. At that moment, it would have taken a lot to upset him.

Outside again, he crossed the street and headed to his car. As he approached, he thought about where he would put the bag. On the floor or the seat? Front or back? What about the trunk?

Definitely not the trunk. What if there was a hole?

The thought pierced his bubble of contentedness. Standing in the middle of the street, he held the bag up and carefully inspected it with his eyes. It was tied up very well! There were no holes. He was surprised (and mildly shocked) at how full it looked.

Somewhere up the street, a neighbor started a motorcycle. It was the only noise in this otherwise wonderful, peaceful morning.

On the floor in front of the passenger seat, he finally decided as reached his car door. But where would he dispose of it?

Holding the bag as far away from the car as he could (Why? He was about to put it inside, wasn't he?) he reached with the other into his pocket and pulled out his keys.

Something large, black and incredibly noisy rushed by. A rush of air overcame him.

The hand holding the bag was empty.

He turned and looked down the street. A man on a motorbike was speeding away. He was going so hopelessly fast it would have been impossible to catch him, even if George Alejandro had opened the car door as quickly as he could manage and started after him.

The last thing George Alejandro saw of the bandit and his motorcycle as they crested the little hill up ahead and sped over it was the garbage bag, very securely tied with no holes, triumphantly held in the robber's grip.