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He had the voice of a Cyclone, the mouth of a Raptor and eyes white, like the white numbers in the Deli’s during the sixties that fell down with a bang. When he screamed NOW you barely needed a toilet. It’s already done. FIVE SIR! I will never forget it. I got number five.
It cost two dollars. I closed the door. Eight NOW! Fifteen, two dollars ma’am. TEN! The Cyclone was raging outside but in here in the blue-green light the serene seclusion of immunity ruled. EIGHT! I knew I had twohundred imposing eyes scanning my door and in three minutes another one will take my place but the giant man out there was playing on my team and his obviousness made my duty legitimate, on the verge of important. SIX!
The thunderstorm was raging outside but in here I sat, without electricity and was cozy. I wanted to write a book. “With the pants down in USA”
-Peace brother.
TWO, THREE AND SEVEN. The secret house’s movements geared up to a roaring show where each and every one got their special moment in the spotlight; invisibly.
– Impossibly possible and all of that for two dollars. Only in America.
Everyone’s hero in the framework didn’t fit into the picture of Hershey. Well, here are two pages in dedication to him, in two languages – worldwide and he gets to initiate a new era. Krantz’ chronicles in Worldkustom.
– He is totally worth it.
– The crapper conductor.
Krantz slid into limp mode. At this time, the only thing in the whole world that really mattered was to find a restroom. NOS-options, aluminum coolers and those darn Coker wheels for bargain prices became completely uninteresting.
My legs had left me after three miles. Think they still were there but totally useless, hanging on to my behind like a pair of jeans off a clothing line. And forget about the feet, they had gone on strike several hours ago. They started whining about the same time as the skipping girl. The sun was gnawing on me like a gigantic, bored puppy. Fourteen! The leather jacket was refusing. Number nine! It felt like the jacket producers failed to separate the cow from the skin.
One and nineteen! Stepped in a pot-hole. Heading towards that brick wall. Number eight ma’am! I could see the line to the portable toilets. The Great Wall of China of emergency-shitters. Twelve! I heard someone roar. Maybe an auction or something?
Twenty!
I noticed the line reducing quickly. Seven and six! Suddenly I was in the front line and there he was. Distinct. Safe. Upright. Direct. A magnificent example of the specie human being. The Afro American ruled the gravel I was standing on. Nine! He opened the door to a blue porter potty with number nine on the door and smiled.
He had a half circle of 20 porter potties behind him. TEN AND THREE NOW!