Your shaky hand franticly navigates its way to your shriveled, shrunken flap of skin to position it to a suitable angle for its purpose.
The pressures of the bladder, clothing and the mind are all concentrated on this one particular sphincter.
Inhaled breath held in, the stench of piss and disinfectant rise to your nose. . .
Nervous exhale, dry spit: “Thou shalt not gaze at thy neighbors appendage!”
Just stare forward, pelvis poked almost completely into the urinal.
The rest-room is dead quiet, and nowhere to be heard are the sounds of flowing golden piss. . .
”At least not from your trough!”
You’re a failure, , ,
a failure!
He knows!
The guy on the other side of you knows too!
They both know!
Everyone knows!
YOU can’t piss!
Your bladder is locked tight. . .
A clamp.
A vise.
A frozen un-manly system.
Bated breath, sweat on the brow, it’s taking w-a-y too long. . . 
Dry as a desert, fucking choked!!
*Shoulda’ just went,
sat in one of the stalls, , ,
and “Tinkled like a Bitch!!”