The Falling Fruit of the Poop

Sanchez wistfully, and some might argue, blithefully, meandered down the bookstore isle. He was searching for a book on gardening. He found one. Carrying it to the counter to purchase, he tripped on a turd some poor epileptic deposited earlier in the day during a fit. Slipping backward and cracking his head on the floor, he expired. The bookstore held a memorial service for his family, all expenses paid, to stave off a lawsuit.