pick one, they’re all bathrooms, you said. and i went up and pulled on one and it didn’t budge. i pulled the next one and it opened. i went in and shut the door and locked it behind me. it was dark. lit by one of those lights you see in underground government facilities in movies. it was a bulb with a square plastic covering and a cage over that. the walls were cement. i looked down at the toilet and it looked like it hadn’t been flushed in years. the water was so yellow it was gold, and the mound of toilet paper in it had become an iceberg, soaked solid at the bottom and extending above the surface. the small closed space reeked. i tried to keep my feet out of the piss all over the floor but it was impossible. i watched the bulb as i relieved the pain in my bladder. it came out slow at first, trickling down the way it does after you’ve been holding it in for too long. then it came out steadily. it felt good. when i was done i zipped and turned and walked out. you were waiting for me, smiling.
i have to go too. what’s it like in there?
you don’t wanna go in there.
really?
really.
OK. well i have to go. maybe we can find somewhere to sit down and get a drink so i can go in a decent public restroom.
let’s do it.
there’s this great place the Whaler, you said.
OK i said.
on the boardwalk, i put my arm around you and we sauntered north, talking, laughing, complaining about how slow people walked on the boardwalk. at Windward Circle, you stopped and said, oh no, we’ve gone way past the Whaler.
we can go back if you want.
no, you said, it’s fine, no big deal. there’s sushi and this other place here.
i shrugged. wherever you want to pee, i’ll eat.
i paused. i know that sounded weird, i said, but i swear it was romantic.
you chuckled and we walked toward the big white building.