if these stalls could talk

Club bathroom stalls. They know all my secrets. They sensed what I wanted and what I was missing. They heard the empty conversations and exaggerated confessions. Promising people things I would never be able to deliver on; fame, trust, friendship…love. Why didn’t I provide them with something I had in abundance: drink tickets. Nothing that happened after midnight mattered to the world. Unless of course you consider gossip a substantial contribution. Too bad we cant write it off at the end of the year. BANG BANG BANG. There was always some party girl on the other side of the door waiting for her turn to talk to god. And of course every once in a while the head of some commoner would pop up from the stall next to me like some eager freshman hoping to catch a glimpse of a cheerleader taking a shit. Thank god I was popular so that when things got really chaotic I could retreat to some back room to self destruct in peace. I was truly blessed. It really is remarkable what I discovered in bathroom stalls.  Like a caged animal who is fed a carcass every day thinking they’ve provide their own meal. So clever. So proud. So foolish. Little did I know how reliant I was. Such a tragedy I didnt even know I could hunt.

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