I surprised myself with the insight, but there was something rather febrile about her demeanor which led one to this conclusion.
“How much of your life do you think you’ve wasted queuing for the bogs?” she asked, conversationally.
They never have enough of them, do they?
I didn’t speak, as I was trying to calculate the approximate queuing time, but she didn’t seem to mind that I hadn’t responded.
“It’s all right for the men, isn’t it?” she went on, in an angry tone.
“There’s never a queue for the Gents. Sometimes I feel like just going in there, squatting over the urinal. Ha!” she said.
“Imagine their faces!” She laughed, a long, smoky laugh that turned into a protracted cough.
“Oh, but I think it would be terribly unhygienic in the Gentlemen’s toilets,” I said.
“They don’t seem to mind so much about cleanliness and that sort of thing.”
“No,” she said, her voice full of bitterness, “they just come in, piss everywhere and then waltz off, leaving someone else to clean up after them.”
She gazed unsteadily off into the distance, clearly with a specific individual in mind.
“I feel quite sorry for them, actually,” I said. She glared at me, and I hurried to clarify my statement.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색