I step into a city park restroom through a broken cinder block wall. As I start to pee into a central basin I see dark eyes peering at me over a stall. The eyes are filled with fear. A tall, thin dark Indian man steps out. His head and hands are wrapped in bandages. He offers, in impeccable English, to do odd jobs for me. He presents his daughter. She is small and cute with red hair and a green dress. She lives with her father in the bathroom. She seems to know some database concepts. I know I can find some work for her. I won’t be able to call her but I know where to find her.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #354: They Live In The Bathroom
1 min read
