It’s a single occupancy bathroom; a toilet and a urinal sit side by side in competition for which will be used though the urinal knows that by sheer numbers it’ll always lose.
I turn on the water – it always helps me to go in strange places – and pee for what seems like days. Afterward I rinse my hands, close my nose to the smell, and run my mouth under the tap. It tastes like liquid gold. I drink until I feel like I’m going to burst. When I leave the bathroom the tap is left running just by the satisfaction that if mother were here she would say, “Were you raised in a barn?”
Walking around to the front of the store I feel the same trickle of blood that I thought was a bug at school. I raise my arm to lick the blood off and I’m met eyes to antennae with a roach the size of my palm. I scream and scream and scream while simultaneously running and swatting at my arm; I end up in a patch of grass separating the gas station from a fast food restaurant though the devil bug has gone missing. My heart is in my throat.
It’s then that a car behind me, moving through the fast food drive thru, honks at me. I look up but don’t turn around. I can’t. Instead of noticing the person in the car behind me I notice that my parent’s car is missing. What is happening to me?