43

I’M HALFWAY OUT OF THE stall on my belly, feeling like a total dirty toilet- snake slithering around, when the bathroom door opens and the loud sounds of the crowd and the music come blasting in.

I look up at an amazonian woman wearing heels and jeans standing not very far from my face. She looks familiar, and I’m pretty sure it’s because she’s a supermodel who dates George Clooney.

“Uhhh …” I try to play off the fact that I’m wallowing in strip club toilet stink at her feet. “Heh, heh. Hi.”

She lifts an eyebrow and stares at me. I’m immediately impressed with her skills. And I thought I was awesome at speaking without talking. She’s like an eyebrow ninja or something. I wonder if they taught her that in supermodel school.

“Do you need some help?” she asks, coming a step closer.

“Yeah,” I say, pressing my palms into the floor. I’m going to sterilize them with fire later. “The lock broke while I was inside.”

She bends in half and puts her hand down where I can reach it.

I cringe. “I’m