We had worked through the morning hours until the lunch hour approached. With a triumphant toss of a coin I chose the entrée, which was a hefty delivery of Chinese cuisine. The oriental dishes delighted my palate but wreaked havoc afterwards. It didn't matter to Robs long as there was plenty of it. The work poured on and we did not finish until the dial on my cracked desk clock read 9pm. We had and hour and a half until drinks at The Bridges Club with Ken Rollins and the infamous big shots, who were no doubt already slurring through their 7th vodka rocks. I raced home, showered, and changed into a not too shabby pinstripe that was slowly beginning to strangle my waist. I cursed the daily luncheons. My stomach began growling in distress. I hurried down the stairs, kissed my lovely wife, and sped down the driveway towards downtown. 9:45pm. Not bad. I entered Bridges, but was told my accomplice had not yet arrived. As I turned to follow the waitress to my table my stomach began to remind me of the earlier lunch I consumed.

Obviously, the Chinese rice had risen into a small army and was preparing to launch an all-out attack on my lower intestines. It was going to be a fight to the death. I groaned. The hostess raised her eyebrows when I quit following her and hurried far to the back recesses of the restaurant. I needed a place - away from everybody to let off a little "steam" and regain my composure. I also had to figure a way to reach an accord with the Chinese cuisine after math and my lower body.

As the sweat beaded up on my eyebrows, I tried desperately to wish the unpleasantness away but other forces had already made the decision for me. Finally, I scramble past the pay phones and water fountain. As I fling the bathroom door open I nail the poor bastard adjusting his squirrel on Prozac headpiece. I think I mumbled an apology about his fresh concussion and dove headfirst into a stall.

And so here I sit. I lean my head against the tiny metal shelf attached the aluminum wall. And sit. I try to conceal my first "launch" with a loud cough. As I eye the interior of the tiny compartment, a door swings open and footstep approach outside. "Harry?" I'm a bit agitated. "The bosses called in. Something's come up and the meeting's been pushed back to tomorrow night." A monstrous sigh of relief escapes me. "You okay?" "Yeah," I say weakly. I reach with another big sigh towards the place paper dispenser. I feel my face drop with sudden realization that there's nothing within the container but air. "Aww shit."