I turn the water off.

In my hands was a bundle of clothes and a bag of toiletries. On my body was a casual athletic ensemble. In the gym was a treadmill. In my mind was the drive to stay/getbackinshape.

I stopped attending Costa's because it became obsolete once I discovered the gym at uni, but today would be the first day a made use of the facility.

I dumped all of my goodies into the locker, and headed for the weight room. Now. The focus is not the exercise itself.Sure, at the time I was doing it I was quite focused. But the details are quiet boring.

-I did as much as a could until I felt my flab burn-

Not Interesting.

My focus is the shower after, and the awkwardness that followed.

I haven't used a public shower since high school, and even then it was not on my list of favorite hobbies. A lot has changed since then. I use a loofah. I use scented oils with my shampoos and conditioner. Basically, I care what smell like.

But as I stepped unto the cold floor I realized a few things:

1. I should be wearing flip flops in a public shower.
2. This place was not designed for comfortable hygienic practices.
3. This was going to get weird. Fast.

The nozzle of the shower shot beads of water against my skin. Too Hot. TOO Cold. Just right?

My Loofah flopped through the water hose with the pressure of the shower head. With the water pelting my chest all I could think about was the American Civil Rights Movement of the 60's.

"It must have been like this," thought the Shameless One, while expecting a dog to bite my posterior at any moment.

As I washed my hair it only became worse. My back now facing the intense water power, I could only think of prison.

"It must be like this," thought the Shameless One, while expecting someone to come for my fruit cocktail at any moment.

I let out a slight whimper.

I turn the water off.

I exit the shower in disarray, and as a couple of dudes enter I stand with my towel rapped around my waist. How am I supposed to change with them in here?

They leave. I robe.

I sit dejected on the bench, not sure about what had just taken place. It's obvious that my lathery rituals are unwanted in these walls.

I pack up and leave.

My loofah sits in the trashcan.