Summer was beginning to succumb to autumn a little earlier than usual this year, the signs may have been subtle but they were recognisable on this street like many others, the temperature held steady on this particular day, the sound of children’s laughter could be heard as well that of the bark of a dog, traffic was almost non existent though the low rumble of an engine could be heard nearby. A smartly dressed gentleman carrying a newspaper could be seen entering a building.

The insignificant building stood alone, the decaying fascia gave no indication as to the purpose for which it served, the entrance was through a large rusting decorative iron door which hinted of the grandeur that once was, now dilapidated and condemnable it reflected the street as a whole. Unlike the neighbouring buildings this was without windows with the only features strewn throughout the ugly brickwork being vents. 

Having struggled to enter through the main door one was instantly confronted by another, this door notably smaller, the only other detail being the missing handle which had at some point been unceremoniously vandalized, torn away by one of the many vagrants who loitered within the streets of Detroit. The space created between these two doors could only be described as unwelcoming and the feeling of claustrophobia all too apparent, as if the musty, dark space was closing in.

Pushing open the door revealed the purpose of the building instantly, the odour of urine all consuming as it hung heavily in the air, clearly the ventilation had ceased to work as no doubt had the drainage system. Insects danced around the bright lighting ceremoniously, they had grown fat from feeding off the waste. The stained porcelain urinal had cracks running throughout and a small reservoir of urine stagnating. 

There was only one private stall, the door was closed, on closer inspection the sound of a newspaper could be heard rustling as it was turned or perhaps used as a substitute for toilet paper, no doubt the latter judging by the overall standard of the place. The sink was black with unknown filth even with the clichéd dripping tap as would be expected, only a thin dirt incrusted piece of soap lay available.

Exiting through the confined space a message was scrawled across the wall, only now visible from the inside light it read; ‘See Spunktrumpet for a good time in Detroit, here everyday at noon, two dollar minimum’.

Spunktrumpet had been waiting patiently for a good 22 minutes.  He had other slots booked at 12:30 and 1:00  so needed to make haste to avoid disappointing his regular mix up junkies and hobos.

Spunky sits on the wall outside swinging chewing gum around his finger thinking to himself that the weans are going to go hungry if this slow trade continues.