At a truck stop, one aged and greying trucker approaches a younger one who has claimed his own urinal in the middle. Men know etiquette: you don’t take the middle urinal. This young man had, but the old trucker seemed to be of the kind who changes into his swimmingtrunks in the midst of a cavernous and crowded public pool’s locker room.

“I used to be like you,” the older says as he saddles his urinal.

“Yeah?” goes the young trucker.

I mind my business from the cover of a few urinals down.

“Yeah,” says the older. “I used to be able to wait forever. And I’d just tell myself twenty more miles, twenty more miles, twenty more miles and hold it forever, sometimes all the way to the loading dock.”

“And now?” the young one says.

“Now it’s next exit, next exit, next exit.”