As Wrote in the Loos
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"If you ever feel useless, just rember, a single one of your pubic hairs could shut down an entire restaurant"

After a filling and hearty meal, I will find myself grasping at a form of relief. In my red-faced toil, I will oft find alterations to my fetid shelter. Gang symbols, lewd drawings, Cool S's, and other artifacts not fitting for any self-respecting writing website.

As hand driers howl through the halls, and second-hand vape fumes pervade my being, I reminisce about the drunken national anthems, the wide-eyed possum in the roof, and the thousands of stories lurking in this place.

It is on this trip that I found a gem of knowledge. In an illiterate haze, you comforted me. Called me to action. You did not taunt me, nor offer services, nor make abrasive remarks, but told me I had work to do. You asked me: why must I cower in the comfort of the sturdy porcelain when I have so much potential at my disposal? Why relieve myself when there are those destined to hold it in?

To some, you are nothing more than white marker on wood. A wet wipe target. Teenage degeneracy in microcosm. But not to me. To me, this is the first chapter of my assault on forced helplessness. On perceived power.

What led you to this place? Were you too seeking relief, or did you arrive with the intent of spreading your message? What gave you the courage to spread this message despite your writing challenges? How much more wisdom do you bear?

Whoever you are, I must follow you.

I must become a role model. The first of many. My story will preach to the masses that they are not held captive to the disinterested elites. They must not weep nor shrug, but fight.

I dispel my malodorous comfort zone, bidding you farewell with a wipe and a flush. With wet hands and starry eyes, I step out into the uncaring McDonalds. I must become a role model. The first of many.

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