Thanks East Berlin and East Germany. We had memories together. I held my piss so long on the way back [I was hitch-hiking], when I finally convinced the driver and his other three passengers to pull over so I could empty my bladder.
“You should have gone back at the gas station!” one of the more adversarial passengers, who sat shotgun, yelled at me.
“I didn’t have to go then,” and shrugged my shoulders as if to say, ‘What can I say? I didn’t know I’d have to go this badly. This has never happened to me before. I REALLY HAVE TO GO NOW!’
I had been holding it so long the muscles down their had trouble letting the bladder release it’s pressurized load. It must have been a good part of a minute when the occupants of the car became anxious, a glimpse of them leaving me their spooked me and I was able to let a few dribbles go then a few moments later the full monty. While urinating on the strurdy chain-link fence which separated us from the median and the east-bound traffic, I heard a couple of young men [apparently East Germans] starting to jeer, antagonize and apparently threaten arrest from their car which was stalled in border traffic. It was verbotten to stop along the road back to West Germany at the time.
My traveling companions insisted I get back in the car [or they’d leave me their I guess, after all, I was a hitch-hiker].
I relented although I hate stopping my piss mid-stream. When I sat down, there was no more pain from the overloaded bladder in my lower abdomen. I was lucky; I was glad.
Thanks for the memories. We can always build more walls but they always seem to come down eventually. Why bother?
Back to the movie, #BridgeofSpies #SAGawardsfycSCREENER
John Matthew Rubens 
JOHN RUBENS is no Mother Teresa. 