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In the soft glow of dawn, a lone man stretches, yawning as he rises from his bed, his morning wood tenting his boxers. He wanders to the bathroom, pulling down his underwear, and positions himself in front of the toilet. His piss stream, a warm, golden arc, hits the water, filling the room with a sharp, acrid scent. He sighs, relieved, as he continues his morning ritual, the sound of his stream echoing in the quiet room.