Roddy Doyle's Charlie Savage: Potty talk and Generation Overshare
I'm in the jacks. Not at home - in the local. Anyway, I'm in there. And I'm… I'll use the formal expression - I'm urinating. Now, normally I wouldn't be telling you this and you, I'm sure, would be happier if I wasn't. But there's a chap standing beside me and he isn't - urinating, that is. He's making a film.
I'm just standing there, minding my own business. Staring at the wall. And humming. Knowing me, knowing you - ahaaaaaaa! Counting the tiles. When I'm aware that there's someone beside me. I don't look but I'm assuming it's a man. You get the odd girl straying into the Gents' but she usually cops on quickly and she never, ever strolls up to the urinal unbuttoning her fly.
Anyway, like I said, I'm aware of someone beside me. Nothing unusual there - there's room for three good-sized men, as long as they're not doing the hokey-cokey.