I am writing on a couch in an area where old people come to read the newspaper for free. One old guy is rubbing his bright white tennis shoes together, like a cricket, producing a steady squeaking. Two other old guys are sitting on another couch, crinkling, crinkling, crinkling their papers. One walks away and comes back and leans in to his friend and whispers, louder than many people talk, "I gotta get in the fucking bathroom! But there's a kid in there. I said how long you gonna be? He said I've only been in here a minute."
"He's in there! A kid!"
"On the throne?"
"Get him the hell outta there!"
"He won't go!"
"What the hell? His parents gotta be around here somewhere."
"Ah, but they're so fucking stupid, some of them."
"You're right about that."
"I gotta go home now. To my own throne."
"See you tomorrow, Freddie."