Feeling the churnings of my mind descend to a lower organ, I slipped into the restroom and deposited myself in a stall. My head in my hands, I tried desperately to control my breathing and my bowels. Words echoed through my mind, the accusation of a dying man.

“You are part of the establishment. You are the man. For generations, people will curse and loathe your bloated existence. Now is the time to break free or be forever damned to association with the waste laid by your generation, your…kind.“

That’s when it started, life, the movement and everything. There was really no turning back at that point. One decision, and my life went careening along its inevitable path.

My gut began its own movement, and I had to twirl clumsily inside the stall. Sweat came freely on my forehead despite the coldness of the porcelain I was gripping.

And right there, staring down the still waters of this throne of humiliation, I knew. I knew I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Long live the movement.