on storing urine along taft

This afternoon while smoking a cigarette at the Vito Cruz LRT station, I noticed a guy urinating in the corner by the stairs. Even if it is a common occurence in this country, one can't help but feel offended. Or perhaps we should be offended because it is a common occurence? Anyway, after he finished his business, I realised that he had urinated in a plastic bottle whose lid he was casually tightening as he walked past me. He was of middle age, reasonably well dressed with a polo and slacks but with a mid-day haggard air. The golden liquid tipped back and forth in the bottle as he walked just a few steps to one of those little kiosks along Taft. (I eyed him only because of curiousity and worry that he might offer the bottle to some unsuspecting victim). He then bent over to store the bottle in a little wooden desk, on top of an antique typewriter (is that redundant?), as if he was filing away a folder. I wonder why he stores his urine? Is the urine some secret ingredient in a magic potion? Does he sell it to drug addicts? Was he just embarrased about having to do his business publicly? Was he making the best of the lack of facilities in his place of work? Oh questions, questions.