I had just spent hours being a tourist in Chicago, when we got to the Blues Festival in Grant Park. My friend and I headed for the porta-potties – I hate them, but sometimes you just have to go. We were standing in the crowd/line with all these people waiting for an empty one. These two dudes were discussing a porta-potty that no one had come out of for a while.

“That one has to be empty. No one has gone into it.”

“Oh, you think so?” The other guy took the initiative and went up to the blue pod and knocked. There was no reply. So he opened the door.

Sprawled across the toilet seat, curled up in fetal position, was a young guy, drunk, and totally passed out. He had put the cover down and everything, re-purposing the bathroom into a stinky couch. When the door opened on him, he stirred awake, barely acknowledged us, and kicked it shut again.