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The echo of water dripping against cold porcelain sets the rhythm as he begins, the scent of ammonia filling the air. His eyes locked on the flow, he imagines unseen eyes watching, unseen hands stroking in time with his own. The taboo of the act, the exhibitionism of it, sends a thrill through him. He milks the last drops, then tucks himself away, leaving the restroom and the lingering evidence of his solo performance behind.