So I’m sitting with some friends of mine around the bar and one asks, “What’s the graffiti like in the men’s washroom?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I never really looked.”
“The graffiti in the women’s is all about anal sex,” she told me. “Like, pros and cons all up down both stalls.”
“Really?” I asked, and a second friend confirmed it. I turned in my stool and asked the fellow beside me. “Have you noticed the graffiti in the men’s?”
He shook his head. “I’m in and out.”
I turned back to my friend. “Is one stall more pro and the other more con?” I asked.
“Nope,” she said. “It’s just a big debate on both sides. Phone numbers, names, that sort of stuff.”
I set my empty beer glass before me. Lucky for them, I needed to go for a pee. I got up, walked past the pool table, and pushed my way through the swinging door. Two husky lads were at the urinals, and I didn’t feel like squeezing between them. I locked myself into the stall, relieved myself, and made some observations.
As I got back to my seat, the band was just playing their tuning notes. “I found the answer,” I said. They three turned to listen. I raised my voice over the growing din. “It says,” I cleared my throat. “Somebody wrote on the door...”
“Yes?”
There upon the stall was written:
I cut my teeth upon the land
And when I walked my feet were bound
ON REVOLUTION
And another:
Oh let me be a grain of sand in Heaven’s eye
And I shall taste eternal Joy
Joy
Joy
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