Outside the apartment where we lived for 3 years is a giant *historical* public urinal, or "pissoir" as the French say. Our friends call it "the Urina Marina," since it is right on the canal near their boat.
I can't tell you how many of my stories begin and end with this urinal. You can see what people are doing in there because the bottom is open, but the top and sides are covered, so people think it's really private, if stinky.
For example, there is a homeless guy who sells donuts out of a big cardboard box. God knows where they come from. Well, one day he scraped together enough money to get a crack whore. Guess where they went?
I won't specify the direction of their feet, but when they came out, he was still holding his donuts (reminds me of a joke...nevermind...). Eew.
The really funny part was that the hooker stuck around to try to button his pants back up - very motherly - while he wavered back and forth with his cardboard box. Eew.
Here's a picture of a guy standing on our urinal dressed as Freddy Mercury and singing "I want to break free." Yes, he was British. But that is a story for another day.