Title: The Squeeze
Genre: Coming of Age
An innate sense of location makes me a bitch for potential kidnappers. It’s a gift should a loved one cross a well-connected bookie or a drug lord.
The comfort of my current location, based on surface and room temperature told me I spent the night on the bathroom floor. The pink and beige linoleum tile and a balled-up hand towel offered enough comfort for six hours.
I opened one eye to survey ground level. Peters did a good job yesterday. The empty waste basket and outer base of the toilet glistened. No markings or mystery liquids either. He might be due a permanent promotion. No other television trays deserved to die when the Hoover’s cord fooled his size-twelve Nikes. But enough about my comfy digs and plush surroundings. Time to move. I put both hands under my shoulders and pushed up. I rose to one knee and gripped the toilet. The sparking ceramic provided coolness and relief from our sweatbox.
In my current form I shrunk the distance between the toilet and myself so I could muffle noise of anything going into the toilet. Five hours does wonder for one’s reputation. If I threw up last night in the middle of the Back on the Farm party and kept drinking it highlighted my iron-clad perseverance to keep the evening alive. Not so for today. Throwing up in the morning was rookie league, freshmen year first semester shit. The reward of some hacking coughs and half-a-mouth full of phlegm did not justify my effort.
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