Just nothing happening
“I’m going to the toilet,” Rich said.
“Okay,” said Steph.
Rich stood and crossed the bar. As he pushed open the door to the toilet he looked back at Steph. She was sitting on a stool at a table by the window, with her fist pressed into her cheek, watching people walk by. She was pretty, in a way, but Rich had thought about breaking up with her today. He still was thinking about it. He entered the toilet.
Inside was like any other toilet. The door of the lone cubicle was closed. He went over to the urinal, where another man stood. Rich paid no attention to the other man as he unzipped his flies. Instead he looked down. It was one of those long metal urinals that looked like an animal trough. Rich looked down and he looked at his penis. He saw the gold-coloured urine as it streamed against the metal wall with a tinkling sound. Rich thought about Steph. He thought about sex. He was looking at his penis, as gold-coloured urine streamed from it, thinking about sex. He thought that the sex was good, but there wasn’t any connection, that he and Steph didn’t have anything in common.
Someone opened the cubicle door and walked out. Rich saw him out of the corner of his eye, then he felt the stream coming to an end. He became aware that the other man was just standing there, flies undone, hands at his crotch, without urinating. The man said,
“It’s no good. I need to piss, but there’s just nothing happening.”
The last few drops of Rich’s urine rang against the metal trough. The room was silent. Rich zipped his flies back up. He strained a smile and half nodded at the man, but didn’t look at him, then he moved over to the sink. He turned on the tap. The man at the urinal sighed and adjusted himself.
“It’s no good,” he said again with a shake of his head.
He walked into the cubicle and locked the door.
Rich soaped his hands and put them under the tap. The water was warm against his skin. Rich noticed that his hands had been cold. Then the water became too hot and he had to pull his hands out from under its scolding stream. He finished off washing his hands under the cold tap, then he dried them. As he dried them he looked into the mirror above the sink. His hands felt dry enough. The drier was still running when he left the room, when he stepped back into the afternoon somnolence of the bar and again caught sight of Steph, with her fist pressed into her cheek, watching people go by.
Tags: another really short story, intimate, personal, Relationships, sex, toilet
