The Port-a-Potty on Interstate 9
A stationary doorway to a nomadic realm.
A vast infinity, stretching inwards, pulling aside the ties of physicality and logic. What is real, what is defined, accepted, and honored, the long dull toll of the bells of tradition- what is needed by a rational mind, to explain away the burning of an angry sky, or the weeping of a childless mother, all answers and questions are meaningless in the womb of inconsistency and chaos. All roads lead here, to interstate 9. It's easy to regret coming, though the fullness of your bladder left you with no other choice.
The wind whips the sand, and your skin. Raw, aching, you pull open the blue plastic door.
Whatever you were looking for, other than a place to relieve yourself, you found it. All answers, unguarded and abundant. You glance around at the gently waving trees, the sighing patches of ragged grass, the swirling dust and dirt and grime about you. There is no one around to tell you what the answers mean.
Nonetheless. With a grunt of exertion, you pull yourself into the Port-A-Potty on interstate 9, and disappear.
Architecture
The Port-A-Potty outwardly seems to be made of plastic, but is hot to the touch, even on the coldest of nights. Her structure has a hint of pliancy, the ability to stretch somewhat when pressure is applied. However, she will always return to her original state. Her door remains locked, the message OCCUPIED, unless a penitent soul is in great need. There is infinite space within her, as she is only a door to another space, and not a true building.
History
She is a popular site of worship, dance parties, revolutions, and blood orgies. All religions of Paradoxicon celebrate this structure, including her in their holy texts, hymns, and live action adventure films.
Type
Viewpoint
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