After ten minutes of standing around looking like a guy with nothing better to do and receiving a few odd stares from passersby, Mike approaches the women’s room. Hovering just outside the entrance, he asks, “Is anyone in there?”
“Hey, whaddya want?” comes a raspy voice, surely belonging to a lifelong smoker who’s at least Mike’s age.
“Uh, never mind. Thought my wife might be in there.” My wife? What the hell’s the matter with me?
“Ain’t nobody else in here, pal. Now, unless you’s lookin’ for a nice-lookin’ lady like me, I suggest ya hit the road and go take a piss in the little boy’s room.” Raucous laughter follows.
Mike’s eyes bulge. He walks away as quickly at his arthritic knees will allow and goes to the dining area. Shelley is nowhere to be seen. With a heavy sigh, worn with worry and the physical exertion on his body, he lowers himself into a chair.
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