Every wall is cream tile. You are in a small square room, on a faded wooden bench. The door opens, and a woman walks in, then sits next to you. She drops her towel, then leans back, exhaling. You do the same, and you both sit like that for a while. She puts her hand on your thigh. Steam sweat drips down the bridge of your nose. She gets back up and leaves, closing the door behind her. There is a damp silhouette where she was sitting.