Toilets I Have Known

The highlights--

The Plaza:
Where I had high tea. I slipped on the polished pink marble floor and almost broke my chin on the sink counter. The attendant stared, then offered a hand towel to someone else.

Zagreb train station:
Where I had to pay 50 dinar. The station was cathedral roofed -- white pigeons flew so high above they made constellations. The ladies was in a corner, holes dug through the floor into soil, stalls without ceilings. As I squatted I could see wings sweep up into the smokey ether.

331 Alamos Road:
Where I grew up. The “guest” bathroom was the prettiest, black tile floors, wallpaper mimicking gold leaf. My dad didn’t like me to lock the door, rattled the knob for an hour when I tried.

Crescent Street:
Where I live now. I don’t bother to close the door more than halfway, the tub needs scrubbing, cats wander in and out at will, to check on my progress.

The Island:
Where I work. Smells like bleach, but roaches scramble where the tin walls meet the tile. I use the handicapped stall since the seat’s so high my feet dangle. Makes me feel three again, new at this.