Someone in our family had taken to wiping his or her ass on the bath towels. What made this exceptionally disturbing was that all our towels were fudge-colored. You’d be drying your hair when, too late, you noticed an unmistakable odor on your hands, head, and face.

The water here reflects the stars through a stinking rainbow of impurities, effluents and chymical slop, making it sluggish and unsettling. (Oh, to rise above this to not smell this filth this dirt this dung to not enter the city through this latrine but I must stop, I must, I cannot go on, I must.)

Holy shit, Gilbert! You look like you smell like pee.

Where there is a stink of shit
there is a smell of being.

This place smells like piss and beer.

I love the smell of male urine and the reek of his groin on my bath towels after he’d had a shower

There is nothing in the world that I loathe more than group activity, that communal bath where the hairy and slippery mix in a multiplication of mediocrity.

The room smelled like a gust of wind from Satan's anus.

Come and see my rose-coloured bath full of death!

Nothing is worse than to finish a good shit, then reach over and find the toilet paper container empty. Even the most horrible human being on earth deserves to wipe his ass.

I, for instance, don't see any smells whatsoever. <small>(While tasting tap water)</small>

"How did you die?"
"We er....drowned in a bathtub."
"All three of you?"
"It was a big bathtub."

Mortality smelled muddy and wet and I reeked of it.

So this, then, is the chamber of the hootchy-kootch. Its bathtub full of orchids. Its closet full of smoke.