The only thing nicer than a spicy curry, is a clean commode when you're in a hurry. Though the clay plaque of John Barleycorn found no purchase amongst the quixotic bric-a-brac that served as decor. The checkerboard wall tiling cut a strident swath, hissing at the seashell framed wicker mirror, suspended over a sink from what must have been a Jules Verne nightmare. Together the ensemble says, evacuate your bowels, fuck baroque, god is dead.
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