Nearly blinded by bright lights Isa closes her eyes for a minute. She stops to think why she is here and suddenly remembered. 

Much respect to this brilliant idea of a public bathroom in Detroit. May the fallen rest in peace.  Hobbs will not mind if everyone used the Detroit Public Library.

Mai finally had the time to really explore the businesses in Detroit. With her mother’s journals in tow she drove up to the 12th Street Public Toilets.  There was a lot of history here.  Some legendary people relieved themselves there.  According to the journals mostly a bunch of basketball enthusiastic talking shit, no pun intended.

She had no intentions of removing this historical landmark.

But where was she going to find a specialist in fortune telling that could tell from the size, shape, texture and way the log sits up, what life has in store for them?

Mai thought for a few seconds.  Why try and rack her brain?  There’s been no way that she herself could bring back the persona that once existed here.  It was definitely a man’s thing.

She knew Hobbs was a frequent customer.  She also recalled the names Void, CancidRunt, and Indiana-Jones in the journals, so she decided to drop them a line.

Dear Gentlemen,

This is to advise you that the 12th Street Public Toilets are still assessable in memory of good times once share for your convenience.  If you have anyone in mind capable of fulfilling the position of shit fortune teller please let them know the position is available at Hobbs expense.  Surely he could afford it and surely you understand I just had to pay a 200 mill bounty.  Look forward to your thoughts.

Mai

Thanks god this place is still here. I was worried for a second that I would need to shit in my hat. Long live the 12th Street Public Bathroom. 

Roya had just experienced some of the worst cramps she ever had. She was just listening to some stupid ass guy talking about his cock on the streets and had to must all her strenght to not punch his face. She had to stop and give him a good scolding, but that had costed her physical well being in the form of a severe diarrhea. She had to run to the first place she found and incredibly, for her luck, it was the 12th Street Public Toilets. She ran inside, quickly lifted her dress and threw herself at a toilet, almost shitting all over the floor. 

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh God!" she moaned between wet farts and crap squirts. "Jesus Christ, i'm gonna die."

"Easy there, young lady" said someone "All will be well. Just let it out easy and it should be fine" 

"Is that what you do for fun?" Roya hissed "Listen at other people in their private moments?! For Christ sake, leave me be!" She took off her hijab and used it to dry the sweat off her face.

"Calm yourself! Im a specialist in fortune telling from the size, shape, texture and the way the log sits up. From the noise it made, i can tell there's no log, but im a tasseographer too, i can tell the future by reading tea leaves, coffee grounds and wine sediments, which is almost like reading shit. If you just describe your poop to me and pass me a silver coin, i'll tell you everything that future have in store for you." He said, in a very calm and soothing tone.

"Well" Roya said between farts "since i'm here, might as well do it. There's no harm right?" More wet farts. "Unghh, you'll have to wait for a bit, though, it's gonna take some time til its all out."

"Oh, i can wait. I can wait all day long" the voice replied.

After seemed like an eternity, the neverending shite apparently ended coming out of Roya's now 5 pounds lighter and relieved body. She sighed with pleasure and realized there wasn't any toilet paper left. She sighed again, now with annoyance.

"Here it is" said the voice, passing a roll of paper from underneath the right stall "don't let it ruin your moment."

Roya grabbed the paper, mumbled a "thank you" and began wiping her privates. After the job was done, she stood up, put up her dress and looked at the toilet. The content inside looked like melted chocolate ice cream with chunks of what apparently was Roya's lunch: lettuce and tomato salad. She started describing the crap to the voice and when she finished he said:

"You're a very impulsive young woman; you're smart, proud and you're not fearless, but you face your fears head on; usually you don't take no for an answer and never let your head down, regardless of who adresses you. You're loyal to your family and friends til the end and you're protective of those you love. You defend your beliefs, what you think is right, even if it means death for you. You are intense and love with all your heart, you don't know how to be mid term. That's your qualities and they are also your flaws. You're impulsiveness might drive you to your ruin, your pride cannot let you see reason when you have to and your courage for facing your fears, even when you can't handle such fears, will end up ending you" the voice sighed and continued "as for your future, i can only tell you one thing. You keep living like you're immortal, like there's no tomorrow, indulging in your flaws and what you so call pleasure. Pleasures of the flesh, sex, booze, drugs. Beware, because the best thing that could come from it, is you die soon. You might live, after all. There may be a tomorrow and deep inside, that's your worst fear."

With a vigorous and demanding #2 in the chamber, Duchess settled into the one stall at the 12th Street Public Toilets with the door still on its hinges. What happened thereafter cannot be explained in words, sounds or onomatopoeia, and it would remain a credit to mankind throughout the remaining history of the world that language would never evolve to encapsulate a bowel-born barbarity so inconcievable to the human mind as to defy logic and science altogether. As Duchess stood up to make her escape from this temple of wickedness, she turned to look down at her crimescene and realized it looked a lot like JubTheNub. 

RamsDale was busting for the toilet the wind was getting to him he ran though the park and sees a homeless person and the homeless person asks for spare Change "any spare change sir " Ramsdale picks out a few bills and hands them to the man and then asks where's the nearest  restroom and the homeless man smiles and points RamsDale now runs too the restroom and goes to relives himself  he then hears someone coming in was it that homeless person coming to mug him or was it someone else.........

James had flown into Motor City with a smile on his face. His contact had said a front property had become available which could shift Amphetamines in bulk. He would be rich. He was slightly concerned about the meeting place being the 12th Street Public Bathroom but the reassuring weight of his gun in his pocket helped calm his nerves. He was to meet the front owner at 11.30AM & have a briefcase with over $100,000 ready to complete the transaction.

A shadowy figure approaches.

'You James?'

"Yes"

'You got the money?'

"Yes"

'Alright I regret to inform you that there aren't any DFP's available at this time, try again later!'

James is incandescent with rage. What a waste of his time. She shows the shadowy figure his gun and sternly says "Get tha fuck outta here"

James walks into a stall, places his head in his hands. 'Fucking waste of time' he muses to himself what is next...

Beef had been waiting at a coffee shop nearby with TomOfGimpland and his package never came. Beef had decided to enjoy some quick coffee and a cake at said coffee house. He never did see Tom, but he figured he'd be around soon. After an hour, he decided to leave since things seemed ..off.

As he walked towards the 12th Street Bathrooms, a home away from home, he had found Tom shitting in the bushes outside. "Stupid Gimp" He said to himself. He watched as Tom began wiping his arse with some leaves, clearly not able to wipe everything away, and then pulling up his pants. It was his primal instinct and it disgusted Beef.

He would have expected someone such as Horus to be here instead, but no, his good friend Tom was out shitting OUTSIDE of the bathroom. It was wrong and against the nature of god.

As he stomped around, angry at the nature of his stupid friend, he felt a force of god himself coming into his gut. It felt worse than the time he got an std from some fat woman when he was deployed in France. He felt his gut began to rumble loudly so he RUSHED into the 12th street bathroom. He quickly ran into a stall and unsheathed his belt, he began to shit everywhere within the bathroom. He could feel lighter and lighter by the second. He could hear people nearby wondering if someone was dying, and it was true, Beef at this very moment was fighting for his life.

Charlie swayed to the side heavily barging the brick wall of a building, having too many whiskeys by the bar drinking away his woes from a recent deal "mmph" pulling out a flask from his jacket pocket drinking the burning caramel liquid, as he finished his eyes landing on a hooker by the public toilets, thank god for 'beer goggles' she looked like a treat.

"Hey... ladyyyy fancy a quickie" a smug smile washed across his face, his eyes barely focusing  " won't keep ya long sweethart"

Turning around to fancy Charlie she shrugged as she sucked back her cheap cigarette before exhaling the plume of smoke directly into charlies face, hand on her hips her rasp voice triggling in his ear " you 'ave 15 mins to rock my world kid it'll cost ya more if you want my knees touching those piss soaked floors in there"

Charlie slinked his arm around her waist, his free hand roughly tugging her hair as he pinned her by the public stall "keep talking like that and i'l give ya a drink worth drinking sweethart.

Pushing the free stall open forcefully, he couldnt wait to release some frustration from the grind he had been doing

Beef had lost it all at the casino and was struggling with things. How would he pay his rent that he didn't pay anyways? How would he be able to afford bodyguards without badgering his friends to do so for him and how would he be able to gamble without funds? It all didn't make sense to the Stroganoffer. He was sad and while sulking and drinking outside, he somehow made it back home. He looked up and saw the broken lights and smelled the fresh smell of feces.

He had made it to the 12th Street Public Toilets. He had been holding in one for a while and after his recent loss and the failure of oh so many organized crimes and heists, he was going to fight his demons head on. He found a stall with a broken door and a disgusting toilet and began to work it. It sounded like a baby was being birthed up to three blocks away in any direction. Beef knew he would have to make it quick since the police would likely show up to see who had left their baby here.

He didn't flush and quickly wiped his arse and moved on. He'd leave a softball of shit as a memoir of his adventures in the city.

It had been a while, it felt like it was eons and eons since he had last visited one of the last monuments of the great world, the 12th Street Public Toilets. It had only been a week or two at most, but in this life of ours, you never know when it will be your last. Beef had gone inside of the toilets to see how bad things had gotten, since he didn't think Detroit's municipality were taking care of this heritage site. He walked into the bathroom that he previously birthed a baby of a softball in and low and behold, it was still there, unflushed in all of its glory.

It disgusted Beef how it could be so wrong and yet so right at the same time. He sighed. There needed to be someone that could look after these public toilets here, but who could? He felt anyone who once had any connection to this legendary location in the heart of Detroit was long gone.. Except for, perhaps, MotorcycleBoy . Beef had felt like MotorcycleBoy was use to cleaning up after shitheads, this would be the perfect spot for him to work on his community service after his last bicycle writeup.

He wanted to stop thinking of others for once and focused on himself. He had just came from some burger place a few blocks away and would drop a load in the heritage site. After finishing his business, he left some newspapers in there and cleaned up after himself, making sure to wash his hands, since he didn't want to be unsanitary. 

Beef had finally seen it all. He heard the screaming voice of someone in the 12th Street Public Toilets. While this wasn't particularly uncommon due to the establishment, this time, he thought it was different. He could hear a raspy Romanian voice nearby. He swear, he could understand it and he couldn't quite put his mind to it.. The voice only became weaker and weaker. He could only make out some words.. It was soul wrenching that something was inside of the ceiling but it wasn't truly there... The weak voice began to call out "The writing... Competition.." As it began to gasp for some breath, almost as if it was on its final stretch of living.

Beef was extremely worried about this and wondered if he should alert the authorities. Maybe he should tell the city mob about the ghost or apparition within the 12th Street Bathrooms but he wasn't quite sure.. He knew of something to call though. But first, duty called. Beef unzipped his pants and dropped them, he had just finished eating at a taco stand and the Mexican government was coming back for round two. After a thirty minute session he finally exorcised his own demons. The stall itself was ruined. It looked as if a bomb of feces had exploded and it was BAD. Luckily though, the cleaning staff who were totally real would definitely clean it up and it wouldn't be left for the next person, surely not.

Now that his baby had been birthed and the demons exorcised, he quickly walked outside of the infamous 12th Street Public Toilets. He went to a payphone and quickly put some coins into it. The operator was quick to it and he knew exactly who he needed here. "Operator, I need a JeffyWizzbang and I need to connect to him immediately" He said as if it was life or death. After a few minutes a man picked up the phone and Beef hurriedly said to him. "It's about the 12th Street Public Toilets.. I've heard some things in there.. I think we need to do something. It's what RonnieVanZant, god rest his soul, would want done" He said as he put down the phone. The cheap bastard was out of change to call again.

During Hirostev's recent truck heist, something he ate for breakfast was not sitting well. He felt a sudden urge in his stomach and needed to find a restroom fast. He drove the truck he stole even faster, met with the buyer who paid him $725 and Hirostev ran off.

He quickly saw a restroom the next block on 12th Street. Hirostev ran into the nearest stall and let loose everything he had been holding in. "Oh god, that feels so much better,". Hirostev said. After about 20 minutes, he finished, flushed the toilet and went off about his day.

The mission was simple: track the swan. 

The bastard bird had been spotted waddling in and out of condemned alleyways like it owned the city. Locals say it hissed at a priest, stole a hot dog, and once whispered “vengeance” in Latin. Classic Swan behaviour.

I found myself ankle deep in cold water (hopefully water, probably piss) in the famous 12th Street Public Toilet. 

Immediately I was hit by a smell so potent it made my ancestors flinch. The air was thick with regret and whatever the hell crawled out of someone’s soul and died in stall three. The walls were slick. With what, I won’t speculate. There was a urinal filled with loose pickles. I made peace with that.

I heard flapping. Victory? Justice? I was wearing my best swan stomping boots & crept in after it.

Suddenly the lights flickered and there it was. The Swan. Standing on the sink like a Victorian widow, glaring at me with those coal-chip eyes. It honked once, then projectile defecated onto the mirror and ran like hell.

I gave chase but slipped on God knows what.

All I got was a single feather. It's soaked in some... viscous, haunting goo that smells like despair and cheese. I’m keeping it.

Mission outcome: inconclusive. Swan: still at large. Toilet: likely some sort of bizarre sex meeting place for perverts. Me: emotionally unstable but undeniably stylish.

Toilets. God's greatest testament to the vanity of man. No other animal was as ashamed of their natural process as man. George long believed that to simply squat and poo where you stood was to be free. But he was a member of society like any other, and the beating and arrest would likely kill him. He stared down the 12 Street Public Toilets from afar, knowing that one step into the building would be to his immune system like a bowling ball to stretched pizza dough. Legend had it one waifish, pale, sickly, emaciated meganerd had survived the toilets, once upon a time. They called him Hobbs. George would have to consult the archives to discover his secrets if he was to survive this ordeal. 

Eala saw UglyInbredGeorge

He was across the street from the 12th Street Public Toilet, standing completely still, as if hoping the world might mistake him for a particularly hesitant lamppost and leave him alone. His coat fluttered in the wind like it wanted no part of him. His chin appeared damp. 

Eala was, already wet up to the shins in municipal fluids, and noted with irritation that he had not moved in twenty minutes.

As Eala emerged from the disgusting toilet carrying a swan feather that smelled faintly of processed cheese and revenge. George blinked at her like a cow in the rain. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, as though even he couldn’t justify what was about to come out.

He was staring.

Not at the bathroom, but through it. Past the tiles. Past time. Past reason. His eyes were wide in the way only a man’s can be when he has truly, utterly committed to inaction.

She stepped out into the light, dragging with her the stink of the abyss. George did not flinch. He did not speak. A leaf blew past him. He blinked once.

She walked past him without a word.

His eyes followed a pigeon. The pigeon ignored him.

Eala did not know if George had come to help, or merely to witness her demise. But she suspected, deep in her bones, that if she were to die in that place, George would write a short and deeply unsatisfying poem about it and call that justice.
 

Santiago leapt off his Lake Erie skiff and sprinted like hell across town. Another day on the lake catching no fish made the agony of his internal distress all the more incensing. His life-long dream was to open a one-star Fish and Chip in Detroit- like any other Cuban immigrant- but the one key ingredient was missing. Fish.

The aged fisherman crashed into the 12th Street toilets like a hurricane. He'd never been there before, but he was in a crisis. Nevermind that there was a line. Nevermind that the stall already had an occupant. Nevermind that a small, stout creature with a nametag reading "George" seemingly couldn't even find his way in. Santiago needed to go. He grimaced, and a moment later he had achieved his solitary goal.

Relief washed over Santiago's face like a warm wave on a Havana beach. The wrinkles around his eyes that felt heavy from squinting in the oft-reflected morning sun relaxed and a deep breath soothed him. It was only at this moment that he realized what a mistake he'd made. The deep breath fouled his mustache and left him weary. He finished his business as quickly as he could, unsure of what drew him to this strange place anyhow. Surely a dump on the lake would serve him better than this.

having just taken a piece on the crumbling HQ walls, Handsome SlimRagnarok had no need for the 12th street toilets, yet he drifted towards them always. As he approached, he could hear the drool from George’s drool bucket sloshing about. Despite the sound being horrifying, Slim didn’t veer from his course. He stopped at the main entrance and said a silent pray asking Big Jason for guidance as he considered entering this fabled place.