Dishtowels????

When I first moved overseas, my mother had put a roll of toilet paper in my luggage.

I laugh about it now, but at the time, I was furious. I told her of the time in college I'd bought an extra-large package of toilet paper and a bottle of ketchup. Seeing those two, just those two items on the conveyor belt was too much. My roommate and I offended the clerk with our bursts of laughter. It just happens. People laugh at toilet paper.

Today, I ran out. No shit.

7:44PM
It’s dark and breezy, and the walk to Ralph’s in downtown Los Angeles is low on the list of things that smell good; the brain went here:

No extra roll, must've been not looking, just grabbing. Paper towels? Shit, I've been using napkins instead lately, which means no. Napkins - shit, I've only got two - true, they're dinner-sized "Elegant Napkins" from Ralph’s but it's both not enough, and a shameful affair to picture: me about to heed nature's call, turning mid-stride, heading back to the kitchen, lifting a loaf of bread, swiping the last of them and thinking "well now there aren't any napkins!".

Surely I couldn't be so lazy as to use the dishtowels, could I??
Shit.

8:32 PM.
So I'm walking home from Ralph’s, napkins in one bag, in the other, toilet paper.

I passed a frowny-faced Latino couple trudging groceries to the family car, their preschooler in tote. She’d been staring at me as kids do, half-glimpses every twenty seconds over the shoulder, thinking you don’t notice. As they stopped, she turned to me and waited. I smiled, and she mimicked my face.

I remembered going two weeks without shaving, living in the van between Keri Keri and Wellington. I remembered showering in beach-side surf-bathrooms that didn't have mirrors. I remembered getting chastised and chased by Backpacker's Hostel owners for using their bathrooms and not paying (the German sisters always looked for excuses to not sleep in the van, Spike and I picked them up in the morning like travel-pimps, sliding in unnoticed to clean up). I remembered feeling happy during that time; none of us were looking in the mirror, worrying what each other looked like, we just smiled back and laughed.

On the way to Ralph’s, I jotted down atmosphere, as writers tend. Street. Wet empty red-zone cruiser. On the way back I switch it to a rained-on police car empty and adjacent to a fire hydrant, to make the first one sound dirty. I was feeling a bit silly, recalling the TP 'n' Ketchup incident, thinking how even tonight, for a moment I hesitated on taking advantage of the sale on toilet paper so it wouldn't be obvious, so people wouldn't be looking at me, the guy who came to Ralph’s at 8PM and bought 20 rolls of poo tickets.

Even if they are really looking, maybe they're just looking for someone to smile back and laugh.