Spectator Sport: Chinese restaurant toilet

The humid air smelled like rotten yogurt, which had probably expired about a gazillion years ago. The filthy floor was contaminated with gargantuan specks of mud and soil, and the tiles that was once (they should have been) luminous white were polluted with countless of bacterial infections with slimy creatures slithering along the broken cracks in the ground. Upon the wall, worn out by time and crumpled by age, hung a cracked mirror, whose ability to reflect accurately all that stood before it was replaced by an undesirable opaqueness. It was dark--dim light shone through the surface of archaic bulbs that were in all manners similar to ones in abandoned factories. "This is hell," I thought as I stood waiting in line. Hell could be cold; hell could be hot; and hell could be smelly. No one knows...

The line was long, and I really needed to go. Nonetheless, there are others too that could not hold it any longer. As I looked around, I saw one man—a black man with soldier pants, blue jacket, and ripped jeans. His demeanor resembled that of a way the terrorist act. In fact, my qualm tells me that he was absolutely a terrorist. However, his face was not cruel but rather burdened—burdened with poop. He could not bear it any longer, I could tell, and his face started twisting and twitching. Gladly, after a few minutes, he was able to enter and let go. Then, instantly, there was an explosion I wonder what it was in the beginning, but the proliferating foul odor straightforwardly informed me that a surfeit of fart-bomb had been dropped. Everybody else quickly put their hands over their nose and mouth, protecting those sensitive organs from the blasting smell of the invincible fart-bomb. When the assertive terrorist came out, he was on cloud nine: he was smiling so wide that his lips would touch his eyes if they could. I thought he would be abashed, but no, the man was not at all. Piercing eyes glared at him, determined to rip the terrorist's body open, as he walked gracefully out of the toilet room like nothing happened at all, leaving only the extreme smell of his fart as a remembrance that he had once farted here. From that day on, I would never enter a Chinese restaurant ever again.

I got it here



I got it here