"Stepping out at the Freedom to use it," I said into the microphone. The restroom in the Freedom Station next to Club Cabaret is among the grimiest holes I've ever pissed in. I involuntarily take a whiff and expect to find a load in the toilet. Strippers have been fucked here, I think.
There's a small bump of cocaine on the soiled edge of the bowl, in the center, between the round ends of the toilet seat. It's right next to a pubic hair. I wondered how long it'd been there. Did they drop some, or was this a cruel test? How long could it last?
I look to my left at the picture hanging from the wall. There's a landscape featuring a large white barn, concealing a farm house backed by tall, thin evergreens dotting the Great Smokey Mountains. The corn in the foreground is harvested, half stalks bend to the weight of the frost, and the mist smells like Winter.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Walked into CVS with a fare who was picking up a six pack to go with his Nascar jacket. The big haired woman standing behind the counter belonged in a Hallmark store.
"Where are your restrooms?" I asked. This CVS was noticeably larger than several I'd been to and used toilets in.
"We don't have one," she said firmly, which I knew wasn't true. I looked at her like she was speaking in a foreign tongue for another moment before she told me Big Lots had one next door.
"How generous of them, thank you," I said, walking out the door.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
