The Stall On Wall Street

If walls could talk I'd tell you my insides were black. The emotion of emotionless movement penetrates my porcelain silver scratched walls as countless beings use me seeking privacy in my space. I'm tired of the inconsistent smells and disrespectful energy but of course I'm rooted in the most ruthless cities and busiest streets famously mistaken as wolf not wall street. I'm the most public private four walls you could ever endure, being a bathroom stall trapped in my four walls on wall street for fifty years has taken a toll on me. Those covid days that recently ended were some of the best times of my life. Silent empty sounds of sunlight. It was peaceful. I feel traumatized now seeing how life could be. If walls could talk, I'd talk to these beings in a monotone deep white collared voice to knock some sense into their heads. It was a rough time for the beings, when some did come into my stall they were sick, almost blue, coughing, scratching their throats, mucus flying on my walls not even courtesy enough to wipe it off. This one particular man has been coming into my stall sense I can remember, he was tall with a posture of a fucked up massaged from the five dollar thirty minute asian parlors in Chinatown. He was pale and green in the face with eyes of a puppy who is scheming on getting a piece of bacon off your plate in the morning. He had purple bags under his eyes and hair so thin I didn't see why he just didn't do a clean bald shave. He sat in my stall and just cried. But before Covid he wasn't like that. His posture was confident, his smile was big walking into my stall, no matter the fumes plunging from the next. He would call his wife and they would just ask about each other's day, at the end of their call he would say “tell me?” And then she would say “I love you too” and hang up every night around eleven pm. After Covid he was like an apple getting eaten inside out by a worm he created his very own self. Before Covid he was living his life carelessly and at my bar drinking and doing drugs in my stall, each side of his lips was stretched to his ears he was smiling so hard. Yesterday his wife for the first time came to my stall, and I knew it was his wife because before she knelt down he said to her “tell me?” and she replied “I love you” and continued doing her routine. Sadly she wasn't the first woman who came into the stall with my old guy. One of the mystery ladies I've seen before knocked around 11pm and replied “Dulce mi papi open the door”. And unfortunately I'm an old stall who rarely gets maintenance so there's easy tricks to open my door. She without hesitation opens the door and screams and at that moment Dulce wasn't the only one who knew he had more loves than one. Using my four walls with them. Things got erratic yelling, screaming, hanging swinging fists and elbows while tears falling and suddenly a big sound of a dead weight elephant hit the floor and Dulce was there in a pool of snot and tears glaring at the two and said two words, “Tell me”. And the mystery lady looked confused and the wife did not look amused. Snot and tears poured out his face like a faucet as he turned blue, he yelled “TELL ME!" Hitting his fist on the floor. His wife looked at him blankly and ran out the door. Mystery lady gave him sass. Threw some condoms and said “That's that”. Dulce sat on the toilet crying yelling “WHY ME”! Calling his wife repeatedly. He threw his phone at my wall and kneeled to the floor once again yelling “TELL ME”! And I responded, “He who asks, what shouldn't be taken will never find reality until honest with himself”.

THE END.