Open urinals bring a level of intimacy to the process of relieving yourself that has no parallel in women’s excretions. Though you keep your fucking eyes on the floor, the sound and smell of the man’s piss, whether it was intermittent, immediate, weak or confident, you share that. Waiting at the internal door on busy nights, propping it open with a foot—enough that you’re in line without being inside or touching the door—you may even hear the man at the trough make a puckered kissing sound as he looks down at his handiwork, snorts back phlegm and spits.
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