The Public Toilet

A sodium light fell upon a decrepit building that hid behind foliage like a peeping tom. Brick- shithouse, cottage and shooting gallery in one. Limp dick dissolution had lead me there, but the neon light drew me in with the flies... That and a fear of a public order for pissing in the street. CCTV can be so observant.

My image smeared across the mirror as my bladder erupted in a steaming slush into a porcelain urinal, eroding a pink nub away within seconds. The disinfected-shit stink of the place peeled back the senses, alluring for reasons unknown. The monochromatic cold seediness was appealing in an appalling way too.

A masterpiece of obscenity adored the tiled walls – a fresco rendered in black magic marker mostly - cartoon cocks, numbers, attempts at esoteric signs. A spray painted skull, dripping pale slime.

Three cubicles racked up against an opposing wall, I eyed their reflection in the mirror as the cubicle door creaked open with a human groan - I swung my head around to greet an attendant perhaps? Whoever he was covered in a Pollock of piss and shit, slumped beside the bowl - paralytic... He looked me in the eyes and muttered... “The Fountain… the fountain”.