The temptation is to rush.

But in these situations, comfort relies on preparation: the inspection, having patience and follow-through. What’s to come relies on that. The surface must be dry.

So he reaches below the mounted encasement and grasps the loose end of the rolled tissue, unraveling enough to absorb the small collection of droplets scattered across the porcelain stool while also keeping his fingertips from a displeasing contact.

A few quick wipes is all it takes. Discarding the fashioned tool to the sleeping vortex below, a brief condolence is swept away by the recognition that all things play their part. And besides, this wad’s fate is nothing compared to the destiny of those that follow.

Now the protective barrier. More paper, more unraveling. Parsing the comfort-soft tissue along equidistantly spaced perforated lines, the double-ply designed for easy separation, and yet its delicate strength still enough to keep him from so many others.

As he places one long strip to the left and another to the right, a thought occurs. Two straight lines, slightly askew and extending ad infinitum end up light years from one another. Galaxies apart, a universe between them, as if the two could have never met. And yet, here they are, so close.

A shorter length connects the two longer pieces at the back.

Checking his work, he takes pause, as if to communicate the end will not come too soon, and then, calmly removing his coat, hangs it from the door hook. Galvanized pipe secured by an iron flange to the thick wood, the hook feels safe. Stalwart. The room is spacious and comfortable.

And so the last step. Only in places like these: Nice places where he can relax. Where he won’t be bothered. He removes his shirt, folds it neatly and places it atop the coat, the light weight of blue-dyed 100% cotton tee barely noticeable to the sturdy metal peg fashioned snuggly to the dependable door.

He’s ready.

And taking a seat, makes quick business of it.

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