I'm on a road trip to vacation land.

On my way back home I had to pee... really bad. Like, I've been waiting two hours bad. Calling to the front of the shabby but comfortable van, "Can we get to a rest stop? I need to pee". Half an hour, and several requests later, we took an exit and arrived at a gas station. In my rush to the bathroom I noticed, even in the dark of night that many of the gas station's propes wore hoodies despite the still oppressive heat.

This was a very special kind of bathroom. Calling it a bathroom of halves wouldn't be far from the truth. My mother insisted that my father get the key to it as I jumped out of the van, but the lock was a nonissue... Rather, it was the lack thereof. The doorknob under the shiny deadbolt was nonexistent. I managed to pry the door open pulling on the lock guard. It was a small unisex bathroom with the basics, a sink, urinal, and toilet. They were the only clean things in the room. The walls were covered in marker tags, "Panas" being a recurring theme. Only two walls were tagged. "Probably a local gang or something" I thought to myself. My attention turned to the urinal. It was two feet too low and had a massive crack across the bottom. I shuddered to think about what caused it. When the business was done, I surveyed the room some more. There used to be a stall for the toilet, but only a red door remained, ajar. I left the bathroom with a good reason for not washing my hands, or flushing the urinal, or touching the door.

I left just in time to bear witness to two people walking into the woods. In the van, we, perhaps stereotypically, mused their purpose. Humorous remarks about drug deals and other illustrious activities hummed in the van as we pulled out of the ragged parking lot.