This is disgusting, but — whilist driving through Brooklyn, a spectacularly rich dinner behind me — my stomach tightened and twisted and I knew that, if I didn't find a public restroom, STAT, all of my organs would end up coming out of my throat from the pressure of clenching my ass. I distractedly drove toward Manhattan, my face pale and sweating, when I miraculously came upon a gas station Dunkin Donuts. With no other options in sight, I pulled into the lot with a screech.
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