This is a paragraph from, around, two-thirds of the way through the book. I don’t know why I like it, exactly. Maybe it has something to do with a kind of willing lowlife-esque existence? I dunno; it’s not really up for me to say.
I emptied my bladder into a toilet bowl, trying to mute the sound of liquid on liquid by aiming into the bowl’s curvature. It didn’t work, it never worked, but, once all the comforts and delusions had been stripped away, it was what separated a civilised man from the beasts of field; a desire to piss in silence. I liked cubicles, not for the security they offered over the urinal, but for the graffiti which seemed to grow within them like mould. It was rare that they had the intricacy of that which grew on the walls of cities, where religious leaders must look for guidance, but the rushed simplicity of their composition could be equally as beautiful.
A reminder, The Caitiff comes out on Friday the 13th.