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April 15, 2010
Medusa walked into the woman's restroom to wash her hands. It didn't matter whether she turned the dial to HOT or COLD--the water was still scaulding hot. The steam which arose seemed to give purchase to the faint smell of chlorine that lingered among the white porcelin and flourescent lighting, reminding her of beachfront hotels and dark, humid nights. Then the cleaning chemicals seemed to materialize and neatly swirl about her like the steam from a coffee cup. They condensed to form the likelihood of a woman who opened her eyes--two spotlights amidst the fine granules. She ran.