I stood with my hands in my pockets and my eyes on the floor, waiting for the next stall or urinal to open up. We were a pack of shifty men, unaccustomed to bathroom lines. A father and a son talked about Spiderman: Homecoming (the movie we'd all just finished watching) behind me. The father liked it. The son wasn't so sure. Both loved Michael Keaton. Most of us were quiet save a few customary post-pee man-grunts.
A stall door opened, and a bearded young man exited. He wore a Bullet Club tee-shirt. I recognized the skull and crossed AKs immediately. Even though I knew nothing about the Bullet Club (other than the fact that they exist and are important in indy wrestling) I experienced the warmth of recognition.
A fellow wrestling fan!
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