hotelneptune

About 56 years ago (and just earlier today, depending on how your look at it) while taking a walk at Old Town in San Diego, I accidentally discovered a time-traveling stall at the men's restroom. You see, if I have the choice, like most people, I will always avoid public restrooms. I hate, hate public restrooms... and I'm not overly fond of private restrooms, either. Just the act of using "the restroom" is generally not a turn-on for me. But back to Old Town. After a shuffle-footed, sweaty palmed, lip-biting heated argument between my guts and my pride, my pride finally cried "Uncle!" and I rushed into the black, doorless door beneath a tilted N "MEZ" sign. Upon shutting and latching the solid wooden stall door, sanitizing the seat with sand/toiletpaper, returning nature's call, and hitting the flush lever, there was an immediate, rushing, sucking whoooOOOOOooosh of a sound that filled up the entire world, and the dull, water stained cement walls began swirling madly around me. The stall door strobe-flashed and expanded. My vision bent wildly, like God was pressing huge thumbs deep into my closed eye-sockets, and in the red, paisley dancing spots my entire body seemed to stretch and tug like bioluminescent taffy, and my breath was pulled from my chest in a long, swift drag of electricity and carbon monoxide. My fingers and toes tingled. My ears popped. The world stopped rushing and roaring right about the point when my body was dissipated to the point of a million oil molecules resting on a rain puddle, at which point everything went black. I woke up submerged in warm, spiced water...