Some day I’m gonna get around to that, Gil would say. And today he did. He spit-shined the old outhouse at the Cabin, a practical if not aesthetic necessity given the flushless aftermath of the hurricane. It was always beautiful on the outside. Mossy shingles and all.
The inside always had potential. Well, it still has potential, but the western half is ready for your nethers. I’ve always imagined that the two seats would make sense for a mother and her child, or perhaps two little girls giggling in the dark, a candle set between them.