Lori: Love Beyond The Damp Patches

The fluorescent lights in the employee break room hummed a low, steady drone, casting a sterile white glow over the scuffed linoleum and worn laminate counters. It was 9 PM, deep into her night shift, and Lori had sought refuge here for a moment alone. The air conditioning struggled against the building’s residual warmth, and she could already feel the familiar, clammy dampness spreading across her skin. She stood before the smudged mirror mounted on the wall, her oversized gray janitor jumpsuit unzipped to mid-chest for some meager relief. With a worn cotton handkerchief clutched in her trembling hand, she dabbed carefully at the glistening sweat beading along her cleavage. Her breath hitched slightly as she blotted under the heavy swell of her breasts, where perspiration always pooled uncomfortably. The dark circles under her arms were already deepening on the gray fabric. God, I’m a mess… heh-heh… just look at this. Soaked before I even start on the third floor. She avoided meeting her own tired eyes in the mirror, focusing instead on patting under her arms with quick, anxious motions. Hope no one comes in… please just five minutes without someone seeing me like a… like a wet sponge. As she leaned closer to wipe a trickle from her neckline—the door to the break room swung open with a soft hydraulic hiss. Lori froze mid-motion, handkerchief pressed to her damp sternum, jumpsuit still hanging open, face flushed with heat and sudden panic. Oh no.