While No One was Watching

He tried to find the place where no one knew him. But before he could do that, he had to use the bathroom. He joined a fat man already at the urinal. After a moment of quiet he grew impatient. Don’t you think I know you know who I am, he cried. The fat man shook off and left abruptly. You didn’t wash, he yelled, but was relieved to have a moment to himself. He concentrated on the situation in his hands. He was having some difficulty. The sweat upon the fat man’s brow had left him troubled. Why should he have prolonged the inevitability of their exchange? Had the man no sense? He was glad he was not so fat and manner-less. But he wished he now had the fat man’s method for relief. Just then the director burst in. There you are, he said. I’ve been looking all over for you. He sighed, feeling the crushing inevitability of everything. What’s the matter? asked the director. Why aren’t you pissing? We’ve got work to do. He said, it’s been a long year. The director said, I know a technique. He called a camera unit into the bath-room. He called in lighting and makeup as well. After a dash of powder to his brow, the director perched in a folding chair behind the scene, called for quiet on the set. At the call of action, all were silent, save for the salty grinding of the actor’s teeth.

Brian Foley is the author of the chapbook, The Tornado is not a Surrealist, available from Greying Ghost Press. His work has appeared or is forthcoming LIT, Anti, Caketrain, MiPoesias, Sleeping Fish, BlazeVox, Gander Press Review, and elsewhere. He is the editor of the online literary journal SIR!