Baking Korean Style

The other man left, bent double to squeeze through the small iron doorway. He let the door swing shut with a bang. The chamber moaned. The sound reverberating in the closed space. I felt a pressure clap in my ears. Above me the charcoal black chimney climbs a hundred feet. I was alone, struggling to maintain my half lotus sitting position. Beads turning to rivers of sweat seaking the quickest route South. I venture a glance at the temperature gauge. Near 80 degrees Celsius. I am alone in this giant oven. I think about my health. Is this healthy? I think about claustrophobia. I think about the end of the world. I think if the world ends like this, I will go ahead and blow out my brains. I think about the Jews in the holocaust. Breathing hurts, moving hurts. Slowly. Move slowly. Bend over. Back scrapes the short tunnel. Pull the oven door. Fresh air at last. Light and cool. I collapsed on the floor. Waiting for my senses to recover.

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Fueling rumors that Korea is the most wired country in the world. I am typing this from the computer room in the sauna.