The Kraken's Spire Literary Magazine (Volume 1)

She takes a deep breath. In through the nose, starting in the belly and filling
her torso up like a jar to the top of her lungs. She constricts her throat just a bit
as she exhales through her nose from the top of her torso down, relishing in the
ocean-like noise it makes. She’s proud of herself for practicing this ujjayi
breath. She briefly considers dropping everything and becoming a yogi recluse.
She is amused that she thinks she’s cool enough to do so—just knowing the
names of poses and methods doesn’t make her an expert. Sheesh.
She can’t feel her thighs now; they’ve become numb. She takes another
breath and watches the ends of a few strands of hair as they wave in the wind
her exhale makes. She inspects them without touching them, staring at the ends
and looking for split ends. She takes note that her hair looks pretty damn
healthy and that maybe LUSH really does know what they’re doing. She pictures
herself being a yogi recluse making her own beauty products now, too.
She knows she’s definitely not cool enough.
She decides on one more breath before leaving. She becomes very still as
she hears footsteps approaching, then feels her whole body relax as she hears
the men’s room door open instead, keeping her toilet stall sanctum sacred. She
takes that breath, then reaches to her right to grab some toilet paper and finishes
up. She lifts her right foot, balancing on her left, to flush the toilet as she buckles
her uncomfortable Loft slacks. She thinks about how professional clothes
are stupid and that maybe tech companies have it right with casual dress all of
the time.
She stands facing the stall door and closes her eyes. She takes another breath.
She unlatches the door and heads to the sink, just as someone opens the door.
46