A Cool Basin

The dry floorboards grew stale. I pushed past the doorframe into the tiled territory, flippers gliding over smooth ceramic. Cool air settled low here. Ahead rose a white mountain of glazed porcelain, slick and towering like an iceberg. Near the base, a damp ring of moisture clung to the floor beside a fallen hand towel. I settled my belly flat into the cold slickness. Stillness returned. My jaw pressed against the porcelain wall, listening to the hollow echo of pipes deep within.