The last few days were an unsatisfying blur. Jammers and ashes and canceled insurance benefits. Champagne and Max and Pepsacola. Lili and carbon monoxide and a liar running with her eyes closed. And bananas. Rudy waited for his talented mind to do what it always did, to rise above the blur, to command it, to sharpen it into razor focus. Nothing came. Maybe it would never come again.
One thing was sure. It wouldn’t come with the distraction of a full bladder. He leaned a shoulder on the Southernmost Point to steady himself and unzipped his fly in a smooth flick of his wrist. The camera-toting onlookers and gawkers could be damned. He extricated the Southernmost penis and took a long and satisfying Southernmost piss.
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