This was still 1967, well before ordinary people like us had telephones at home, so usually whenever I needed a phone it entailed a long walk to the nearest public telephone kiosk, a journey which, ironically took me past the ambulance station. Sensing that this would take too long, I had a thought and looked around to see if there were any telephone lines attached to any of the nearby houses. A quick burst of relief came when I saw one heading to the house two doors up. That feeling was tempered when I realised that the house was Mrs Alcock's. I shouldn't have been too surprised as Mrs Alcock always thought of herself as above those around her and was usually the first at or with anything considered fashionable. Unfortunately she was also the worst culprit regarding my family's continued ostracism. I knew that she considered me the spawn of Satan for just surviving polio. Still I thought I had little choice so I ran to her door praying that someone was in.A very shocked lady. Surprisingly, it was well lit, but otherwise it looked like a million other roadside rest rooms:cigarette butts floating in the toilet, piss trails on the lowered semicircle commodes, and a hollowed-out glory hole on the left stall, next to the only urinal in the room. Chad bent slightly and looked down at the stall next to the urinal. True to form, a pair of loafers showed beneath the stall wall. Chad had been on his own in many ways since the age of 16. He was thoroughly aware of many things in life, but hadn't been exposed to very much. He was straight, lived a rather conservative life, and seldom ventured far outside his general routine. With a 6-foot-2 swimmer-kick boxer's build, emerald-green eyes, and short-cropped blond hair, he never wanted for female companionship--a good thing, since Chad was constantly horny. He headed for the other stall but discovered the toilet was not working and filled with all types of crap and paper debris. With slight caution but no.
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