For the longest of time, Kevin stood in front of the row of vanity counters at the locker area, oblivious to the buzz of the crowd that was beginning to build up this Saturday evening. In his hand was a strip of glossy magazine paper, hurriedly torn from the corner of an aging library from the lounge area, slightly crumpled, yet on it a series of numbers were scribbled. Kevin tried but could not take the sight off them, nor could he his fingers. This unassuming piece of paper, it smelled of the prized reward of countless late nights of research, of the well-rehearsed reasoning to his wife and children, of deception, yet sweetened liberation.
He tightened his grasp on the paper and slowly tasted its significance.
Kevin thought, there was a blur on the event leading to this, he tried to recall as he watched his own reflections in the large mirror in front of him, but he realised it didn't really matter perhaps, as all he knew at that moment was he had liked what he saw, this encounter of his in the steam room, and he now had a mean of staying in touch with him. In his head, Kevin was churning with an unfamiliar wave of excitement and the possible thrills this may bring. As the heart raced faster and faster, Kevin knew all too well that his earlier plans of this being a one-off, fuss-free exploration of nursing his curiosity was now being spitted into the sink like a pitiable lump of puss and hastily rushed down the sinkhole.
To be continued
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