You get bored and decide to come back later to see if the line is shorter

God-damned dope fiends!

You can't stand . . . waiting . . . any longer. . .

You have to piss! Bad!

To hell with it!

You turn around and walk away quickly, but, as you turn down into a dark hall, some marihuana addict strikes you in the back of the head, probably to rob your wallet. You know these people they will steal anything to get a fix, lest withdrawal turn them into the walking hungry dead.

It was a powerful blow, and, stunned, you fall hard to the floor, hitting your head again, this time much harder. You go into shock, convulsing, as the last drops of your life bleed out of your skull, while she callously swoops in and takes out your wallet, quickly leaving to get in the line for the weed rooms.

The End.