Smell fee

The toilet at the Kursk station is an eloquent testimony of the era.

There is a turnstile in front of the entrance; entry by necessity costs twenty rubles.

And the smell is what it was like under Soviet rule, and this is how it stands. And, of course, no toilet paper in the stall.

And another toilet - no, no.

I don’t know who owns this modest center of consumer services, but its owner managed his stinking sinecure in a completely typical way - the same way a typical head of a customs or passport office manages his resource. You can’t live without my services - pay!

For what?

But for the fact that I’m sitting here across the road.

But there is no competition, and, accordingly, no quality either. So we live in shit.

Moreover, the one at Kursky Station is the most harmless.