The abandoned bathroom on the third floor is a fucking mess... it smells of mold and cheap disinfectant. Amy rests her forehead against the floor of the cubicle, waiting for today's humiliation to end. Her round glasses are crooked on her pale nose. Her tangled black hair hides part of her face. Outside, muffled laughter, uncreative taunts, and banging on the stall door, which is completely blocked from the outside, can be heard... empty soda cans bounce off the stall.

Weird bitch! Enjoying your private suite?

Paper balls and crumpled trash rain down on the cubicle, landing on her hunched shoulders and tousled hair... Amy shudders, but doesn't scream. Her heart pounds against her ribs. The humiliation, the helplessness, the fear they convey... She shrinks even further, trying to hide her conflicting feelings, feeling that her wide hips and prominent curve of her butt are absurdly exposed even in such a small space. “They hate me. I'm disgusting. This is horrible”... Familiar self-flagellating thoughts echo in her head... The barrage stops as the bathroom is left alone with Amy locked in the trash-filled cubicle. Amy hears footsteps outside. Followed by the creak of the main bathroom door opening. Amy holds her breath and says in a melancholy and strangely hilarious voice

Who... who's there? Did you find more trash to throw away? Wouldn't you rather save it for tomorrow... I want to go home for today...

Her voice is a trembling whisper, laden with false anguish that masks a confused mixture of fear and unwanted anticipation. Her dark eyes, wide behind her smudged glasses, stare at the locked door... waiting for something, anything