Wet Hours
by Miles Rost
A drop of sweat plinked down upon the hot wooden plank, evaporating slowly.
Paul sat in the large sauna, taking his time letting the steam work through his lungs, helping to bust up the crud he got from one of his flock.
He leaned back, his shoulder resting upon the hot wood that made the base of the upper level.
As the seconds rolled by, the sweat drops rolling down his face, a thought passed across his lobes and resonated through his skull. The whole of his humidity-drenched being cried out a great old chestnut:
“Is it worth it?”
Go ahead. Click the frog. Join the fun.
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