These are not toilets, a place to do one’s toilet. These are piss holes, a row of upturned stainless steel flutes that flush automatically to accompany the flow. Pass along them and make harmonic water music. But those old familiar sounds of piss on piss, piss on water in porcelain troughs and basins and stalls and bowls is gone. And in adjoining cubicles, two men talk as they go about their business: From Turkey; I like fast girl says one. The other laughs, out loud, at this strangled, self-mocking, attempt at amateur pornography.