scat

i crouched low, my dainty backside hovering a scant inch above the graffitti carved, reeking seat.

trashbin overflowing with all manner of unmentionables. walls wearing a thick coating of what appeared to be dust coated grease. with a 'thwwick' sound, i pulled my sneaker away from the sticky floor.

i tried to relax and get a little reading done. apparently -

"JT sucks cock" and "so does her mama" and "no, you suck your mama's cock" and also "i heart elephant"

but i couldn't relax because it was all too nasty for me in here. this downtown l.a. stall. i wrinkled my delicate nose and thought- "how DO people live like this?"

and that's when i knew. i've been spending too much time in clean, well lit, or candle lit, or softly diffused lightingly lit bathrooms. where the air is fresh and mints and thick towels greet you after hand washing. where care is given to their decoration, perhaps involving a chinese embroidered chaise in the 'lounge area.'

my mind flashed, back, to the not so distant before time:

the unbelievably filthy trucker's stalls i cleaned at the 'cuntry cuzzins' gas station in rural utah, when i was fourteen.

the open sewer/shower combo complete with roaches in taiwan.

the beautiful lounge in rome where you had to pay 15,000 lire for toilet paper only to enter a stall. inside which was nothing but sawdust and a hole.

the stinking, slickly wet barroom stall with a sturdy sink that was good for holding up a boozy girl as an eager boy with heavy breath lifted her skirt.

i felt like ebenezer scrooge reliving his life only i was visiting the ghosts of bathrooms past.

and i decided i don't ever want to have 'no idea' how people live like 'that' or anything else. because that's where i start to suck. (and not in a good way)

so, of-course i have no choice but to donate my own bathroom to the homeless and install a grimy outhouse in my courtyard.

come visit anytime.