253: ...

... stale, stuffy, and smoldering ... the air wafts, with the fan's gentle gale ... click and clack and hum ... its aged neck cranes left and lingers ... the musk of virility, of sweat and stain ... of him ... assaulting and haunting my nose ... the vestige of bachelorhood on his breath; the fragrance of his final hurrah ... mixing with my adolescent curiosity ... the moon-ray columns rise up on his naked back ... a sacred pagan temple ... my fingers, like a pilgrim awed ... flits, pirouettes ... clumsily down the great hall to the hidden sanctuary ...