Three Toilets

There is a haunted feeling about the toilets, my caster. Each with its own microclimate. There's always one that's very humid. You're in a sort of piss bayou. One which would certainly accommodate crocodilian life. Then there's a sort of spooky chilli one. And one that's just sort of pitch black. Like the deepest outer space. No gravity now, either. The black hole bog. Bit smells of guffs. It's quite unpleasant. So lovely. I can eat my panini and paste. Okay, so... Steady door. A solid throne-like toilet. Made of solid gold. In theory, you could imagine a vass