We took our bikes along the Hudson on Saturday, C, Joe, Jeff, and I.
At one point we found a public bathroom in the Bronx. It contained those gigantic porcelain urinals of old. Crackled glaze. Niagaran flushing. Hex tiles. There’s something fantastic about their sheltering size and their alluring finish and their human temperature. If I was going to fetishize something, I think it would be these. Oh. Looks like I just did. (Click to really feel 'em)