The dying urge to relieve your bladder must come first
even if it means using a God-forsaken gas station bathroom to do so.
I told my dad to stand guard outside the flimsy door,
that surprisingly didn't lock.
I shut the door and came face to face with what a small glimpse of Hell might look like.
Floor to ceiling tiles, covered in years of foreign substances
only one can imagine what might be.
I didn't inhale through my nose,
although that made me wonder if I could then taste the smell,
so I went back to breathing through my nostrils.
I did my business, quick as could be
and approach the cracked sink in the corner of the small closet.
I looked around for the soap dispenser and came up with nothing.
Then I noticed it.
I kind of laughed, although laughing required breathing normally,