It was raining outside. In the bus it was a bit drafty and cold. I had to pee. I really had to pee. It was as if I was the hoover dam holding back the Niagara falls of pisses. The aircraft carriers of pisses. The fire hydrants of having to pee. I held myself together with all the desperation of a wannabe zen monk.
On we drove, through the torrential downpour with rolling hills and mountains surrounding the road. The hills were covered in a mixture of car dealerships, grazing cows and a few horses. It was a beautiful morning, but nevertheless I still had to pee. Like a voice calling without end, the need was still there.
Finally after what seemed like eons, we arrived at the gate to the Rose plantation. I was torn between waiting patiently and flying out the doors in search of a place to relieve myself. I waited. And waited. At last the call came that we could get off the bus and there would be a bathroom in the main office. I steeled myself from sprinting, doing my best to stay nonchalant. The bathroom was dark and small, but oh! What a relief! What a release!
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