Pool of pink liquid soap, the kind like spit and saliva come together after a hefty dose of fairy floss, is apparently no longer a problem smearing the counter of the toilet sink.
At least in the men's toilets. A corruption of plumbing in there the necessary impetus to surveying the set up in the women's on a visit.
Squeezing a dispensing colon and watching a dollop of soap hit the counter after a sample is no more. A clear box suckered onto the mirrors and only the slightest depression on the button yielding its soapy goods.
Unfortunately, it's the same type of soap. The kind with a lethargic thickness to it that requires a creative application of air into and between the hands during the lathering process.
Soon Van - Thursday, 12 October 2006 - 22:19
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