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It wos one of those nights. Could caress cherry heat thru yer eyeballs if you shut ‘em. It’d been a slug crawl to this place. Fat bus on a road slim as a pinkie. I don’t much like boiling. Makes me feel loozy.

The spot was an old kiddies summer camp, type that reeked of mustard dirt. We’d be rooming here next two days, m’boyfriend, Poppy, ‘n me. Us and th’rest of th’floppers from th’bus. They showed us to our rooms in the sad low bildings beiged with that raised vomity touch. Rama, our escort, she told us not to droop in the cradle fore dinner, but Poppy loves to play dead so he got right to it.

He fell faster than me, he always does, and also I was fussed killing all th’ spiders. Wasn’t looking for blood, minding my own business scrubbing my pearlies clean, when I noticed a pretty tiny baby at th’end of the brush. I don’t have twenny/twenny if you smell what I’m steppin’ in, so I had to get real close t’see. I squashed that tiny and kept brushing. But soon there were tinies everywhere, on the sink, soap, tub, dangling meatlike front of the mirror, I had to crush em’ mad with all fists and fingers. When I blowed to Poppy bout all th’ hatching allhe did was smucker his lips n turn over.

W’were sposed to meet Rama out the front at six but twos a neat sixfifteen Poppy and I bumped out th’ door. Rama wos pissed all sandy like we stole er twenny dollers, nd she’d sent th’ others off t’the dining hall alredy. It wos up a ways to dinner when sudden I had to pee so bad I was foldin’ over.

“Miss? I’m gonna split iffi don’t use the toilet.”

God, she wos a real see y’next tuesday, pretended not t’listen.

“Miss? I’m gonna split!”

With a face sour as gone milk she sent Poppy off up th’ road and did me a real special honors showing me t’the nearest toilet. She’s a real gorm that one.

Anyway, she showed me over real slow to the facilities, sploiting th’fact I didn’t know this vomit hall from the next. Th girls’ toilets were tucked int’the side of some old school building, only twostory spot in the dump. Wasn’t a door, just a hole, with stairs lumpy as teeth leading down. I was a bit friggie, twitching nervous like. None of th toilets I’d the pleasure of pissing at in this desert’d been up to my standards. Not one.

Rama disppeared down th hole and I, all pleased with m’self I membered to lug mypurse, feeled th side of it fora wad of neat booger papers. They were in there all right. I mosied down th hole, too.

As iwas halfway down th’steps, looked to my left and was an open cluster offour toilets, nowalls, nodoors, noprivasie. There was four girls in four white nightgowns, real antiquelike, all kneeling round th’toilets. Knees poking th muck sopped floor, elbows butting th’ pee greased pink toilet seats, hands tickling down ther throats tryn to puke.

“Evn worse than th’others…” I puffed to myself, pinching my nose pits tight asa fist.

Ther was a dumpy galoshing sound out one othese sicky creatures and she pulled er head outta th toilet to look upat me. She wiped th’soup off th side ofer mouth with a hand. It really wos a bit much.

Rama was crossed elbows taptapping her foot in th corner, waiting fer me to find a hole orpiss mysself, so I stomped along th rest of th stairs and int’the next room to my right. There was more toilets in th’open. These were blue. Some big balloony n’ stout, others tall and tapered asa candlestick. Some yellowones wer lifted up onto th counters like sinks. Most these were empty, anyhow, more ofa selection, craving amoon.

I climbed up t’one of the sinky ones and ther wasn’t papers in sight, so I peeled out my own from’my firstrate handbag and bgan to line th’seat. Real pritty brown alligator. From’my grandma. Horror like, th papers just soak’d cause th pot was splashed inyellow. Rama still crossed elbows wos practiclly rolling her eyeballs out th’sockets. That’s when I started fevering, panicky blotting up the godawful mess till I ranout of tissue.

“Miss? Miss? Is thernot paper for th’toilet?”

She pointed t’a wicker baskit nextto me. It wos filled to th brim with hankies ripened special with all diffrent names scribbledin threads. RJH, GB, TL, KSP… I lifted one fora tighter look. As isaid before, my eyes’re no good.

“It’s wot they use here,” Rama grumbled, seeping her spine further intothwall. Disgusting... T’willingly choose torest against that muggy gunge...

Nightgowned loonies were still speckled allaround. Puking up or gagtrying. I grabbed fer some more hankies but lostgrips of my poor skirt. It soaked in piddle th’side of th bowl and I honest thought to sob. My pritty skirt. All cloudsof blue, brown, white wool checkered now sunked and swamped.

I tried t’go, I really did. But thewet and th yellow and th sticky clam it all made me toosick.

“Yor too late,” Rama grizzled, shoving herself off thdirty wall. “You’ll haveto eat with th girls.”

Thir supper room was next over from th toilets. Theywere all scattered round th dumpish cafeteria, pisstains on th’elbows n’ knees of ther white nightgowns, hair in ther mugs, gobblingdown chickin soup.

I didn’t sat withem. I, th’treasured guest, had a table all t’myself. Infact, I didn’t sitat but satatop my own table. Iwos perched up, hugging th’clouds of my skirt, glancing down my nosehairs atth’ sloveling puppets below. I didn’t even havet’use my gob. I squatted likafrog over my bowl of soup n’ slurped it with m’other piehole- give you aclue.

One girl starred upat me, face and hair drizzling in soup, “Why’re you pissing inhere? Itt’s repulsive!”

Some ofth’other ones looked up, too.

I, abit peeved but working solid t’keep mycool, looked er straight iner face. “I am eating, too,” I said. I clutched myskirt up closer round my face and dug myseat abit lower into my soup.

Th’ fruitcake seemed pleased enouf w’this answer. ‘Nd witha smug look went back to er drinking.

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