Cursing his prostate, his age, Martin headed to the toilet. He needed a piss, urgently.
Walking past his leaving party, he was spotted, drawing a ragged cheer from the party-goer. They waved for him to come in, others pointing to the platter of sandwiches, and a couple smiling and indicating the scattering of cheap wine bottles that were available.
With an apologetic shrug, he nodded towards the toilet, and mouthed the words, "I'll be back."
A sigh slipped out, as he walked, was this the sum of his life.
A dodgy bladder, a small disposable party, and good-bye Martin.
His bladder stopped him from getting too maudlin, and his shoes squeaked on the cold tiles of the floor. Bellying up to the urinal, he took care of business. As he did that, a wave of dizziness hit, and his vision blurred. Reaching one hand for the half-partition, and with the other reaching to straighten his glasses. Martin tried to ride it out.
As the wall tiles slipped back into focus, Martin still felt out of sorts. Shuffling back from the urinal, his footsteps weren't accompanied by the same scuffing, squeaking sound. Instead, a -tik-tik- accompanied his movement.
Half turning towards the bank of sinks, Martin was startled by the woman in the toilet. He hadn't heard her come in. For a second wondering if he'd accidentally ended up in the Ladies.
"Excuse me..." he offered, half-apologetic, half-curious. His voice cracked, sounding higher than it should. He tried to put it down to surprise. But that idea was evaporating fast. Martin realised the girl moved when he moved, spoke when he spoke, and had the same worried look that he felt.
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