081413 #worm #roach You have to go a little ways behind the counter to get to the one bathroom at Esriel's Cafe. Don't let peristaltic urgency overwhelm your manners--get out of the way of the waitress holding aloft a wide tray full of loaded coffee cups. In some other skewed universe, maybe you don't get out of the way in time; maybe she looks just a pinch too long back over her shoulder to sing out a farewell to the lanky, babyfaced guy on his way out. Clang! go the bells on the front door. Ka-chung! goes the cash register in an unrelated transaction--some smoky mafioso is buying a green pack of gum. Oof! goes your chest against the svelte breast of the waitress--o, delectable collision!--and ka-smash! go the coffee cups, spraying chinks of cheap china and hot, wasted coffee all over everything and everyone. You mutter an apology but she doesn't even look at you. She grabs a rag. Even as you're backing meekly away, you look with longing enhanced by embarrassment (you haven't forgotten your need to get to the toilet, of course, but that particular intestinal resonance may actually also play a subtle part in the heightening of your arousal) at the perfect, cruel curve of her skirted ass.