Techno-Gym Story. Inspired by Jonathan Lethem.

I was on the treadmill.  The music was pumping, pounding, pressuring my eardrums into submission  and I reached into my pocket and turned up the volume louder and louder.  I had an itch to scratch and I was clawing at it with razor sharp talons many decibels thick.  It was like a line of high quality Peruvian that coursed through my narrowing canals and waterfalled over the top of my insides like a overflowing cistern -  the quivering icicles dangling from my skull instantly dissipated into something like memories of a orgasm.  Good techno.
I didn't know the artist, or the spinner, or whatever title would be fair for someone who seamlessly transitions one person's music into another's, but whoever it was it was working it was working.  I steadily increased my speed from 4.3 Em-Pee-Aitch to a faster clip of 5.2 - DeeJay! Fuck, Deejay, of course! - and wiped my face with gym-supplied towels.  I'm not much of a sweater, but I'm very concerned with being hygienic, so I wipe places on my body that might be sweaty soon just to be sure.

It eases my mind to be sweat-free.

So after I got off of the treadmill, I made the decision to do only a few exercises.  I wasn't really in the mood to go balls to the wall today and besides, "I'm pretty intense when I work out," I thought or said aloud.  

The gym also provides pre-moistened sterilizing towels but they run out pretty quickly and I pulled a dozen - what can I say, I try to keep my temple as clean and protected at all times - you never know what unseen fungus or parasite has detached itself from its old host and is patiently waiting on the inclined bench to incubate in my very soft very clean flesh.

There was a girl on the elliptical machine and she turned her body and her neck to glance back at me - had I been singing out loud again? - and resumed her frantic pace.  I would have preferred if she were wearing tighter fitting gym shorts - I love those - instead  she was wearing casual looser orange-colored shorts.  The pony tail was a nice touch though, I thought, and sat roughly down on the bench with a weight in either hand.

I think the girl saw me see her and felt like she had "used up" the number of times she could look back at me.  As the only other person in the weight room, I felt compelled to make some sort of connection or eye contact with her, make a loud noise or quick movement so she'd respond in some way.

I didn't do any of those things, instead.