“Hey David, do you mind if we continue this conversation later? I literally have my penis in my hands.”

“Hey Tommy, how’s it going?” Uh oh, my boss David has just pulled up two urinals down.

“Oh hi David, yeah good thanks.”

My stream weakens and thoughts flood my head. Why is this bloke talking to me know? Can’t he give me a moment of peace? Will he think I’m less of a man because my stream just weakened?

“How’s it going with the Trenton due diligence?”

You mean the reason why I’ve had three coffees, two cokes and a Powerade, bro? The reason why I’m here for my fourth piss, bro? You think it’s going well, bro?

“It’s going pretty well, David. I should have it to you by COB today.”

“Awesome, thanks Tommy. Did you watch the Olympic cycling?”

Out of sheer protest to this prison of a conversation, my stream strengthens.

“Great race” David farts.

“Yeah for sure.”

I finally hear the zipper that signals my freedom.

“Anyway, see you later Tommy.”

“Bye David.”

I pull out my phone and watch my 37th Instagram reel of the day to wipe the memory of this interaction from my frontal lobe.

Hopefully no more to come.