WHOOOO! Thank you California for the good time!

C'mon its a ligit question. Just look at the banner for the "Freeplay" Articles. They are ugly!! Not ugly but fugly.

I am visting my Aunt and Uncle in Chelsea. (near Boston).I'd never been to Chelsea before. I pulled over to
check the map. 4th Street. Looks like I had overshot by one exit too
many. Through heavy sheets of rain I circled around Chelsea City Hall,
up Maple, back down Broadway. Eventually I found it tucked away on a
residential street. I got out of the car. From the street I could see
the girders of the Tobin Bridge. It was an odd feeling being so close
to a bridge, but not actually being on it or heading towards it.

I had never been to a Russian bath house before.
But here I was. Here I go! I walked in and approached the desk.
"What'll ya have today?" Interesting question. If I were a woman I
would have launched into queries of what was available, what was the
best, what did he recommend, how does this all work, are there any
specials? But I'm a man. So I feign jaded expertise as if I do this
every weekend. "Just a steam," I reply. I'm handed a towel, flip-flops,
a lock, and a disposable razor.

There's no locker room but instead a block of
lockers, right there next to the desk. I change into my towel. "Enter
rooms at own risk. Shower BEFORE and AFTER entering rooms" the sign
says. I open the door to find three shower heads and doors to either
side. I take a quick shower and go into the room on the left. Three
levels of wooden benches. Rock walls. HEAT. I climb up to the top bench
and I sit. And I sweat. To my left sits an older russian man. He's
naked. He has a belly. He descends from his perch and grabs a branch of
oak leaves from a bucket of water. He climbs back to his spot on the
bench and begins to hit himself with the branch. Holy sh*t! I've read
about this! I'm seeing this! He's not beating himself but is
administering a pattern of one-two swats on his back, then his legs,
his chest. Some of the small hard leaves fly off the branch. Sweat is
pouring from every pore in my body. It feels good. My reign as youngest
person in the place by at least 30 years is relinquished as two guys
around my age come in and sit down. They're wearing their own personal
flip-flops. They're talking about the Red Sox. I hate them. I'm saved
by the appearance of three more large naked russian men all wearing the
same sort of burlap hat. I don't understand the hats. But I kinda want
one. They start turning a faucet that has a sign above it clearingly
stating that it should only be touched by employees. These guys know
what they're doing. Russian conversation fills the room. Twenty minutes
later I'm fantasizing that they're talking about me and about how manly
I am to be taking in the heat with men like them from the old country.
I want to start a sentence, any sentence, that starts with "In Old
Country.....", missing article and all. I want to play them in chess.
I'm getting light-headed. I hit the showers again (heaven) and head
towards the lounge area.

Cheap lounge chairs arranged in a crooked
semi-circle face a table filled with half-eaten food and a bottle of
Vox vodka from which a few russian men pour themselves nips. A few feet
away in an area recessed by a single step, a large screen TV fills the
wall and more chairs line facing it. I play it safe and decide not to
eat anything. It might not be community food. Plus my stomach needs to
recover from the stress of the possibility of getting lost on the drive
over.

I take a seat and watch some TV. I haven't talked
to anyone since I got here. Look over here. I am a young eager ear.
Tell me your stories. Look at my soft smooth hands. They are honest,
but they have not seen hard work. Tell me I am fat and lazy and that
when you were my age you held three jobs and slept five to a bed. When
I complain about traffic tell me how you once waited in a line for
eight hours for a cup of sugar and 3 pieces of bread once. And you were
thankful. Ah, I understand you need some time to warm up to me comrade
- I understand. I won't push.

I'm the only one with a towel wrapped around my
waist. It's noon and I've seen a lot of penie today. It's time to go. I
change, pay, and head out. I've had a good schvitz. I will be back. And
I will grow on them. Kind of like the fungus I'm convinced will appear
on my feet soon from this little adventure.

Why I felt compelled to take the large ziplocked
bag full of pennies from my friends house is for a journal entry all its
own. Same goes for the reasons why I, once free on the street,
attempted to transfer all of the coins from the bag to my pockets, only
to put them back in the bag when I found it forcing me to walk
noticeably cowboy-like.

So there I was downstairs at the Hynes Convention
Center T-stop, sitting on one of the benches, reading a book. My mind
dismissed most of the background noise of the station but I glanced up
briefly when I spotted a homeless man methodically going from person to
person with the same query. I couldn't make out what he was saying
exactly but could easily assume one of a small handful of
possibilities. His thoroughness was impressive, not letting a single
person go unasked. Finished with all those standing he starts in on all
of us seated.

My nose remains buried in my book. But at this point I admit I'm waiting for it.

"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)

"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)

"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)

"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)

"Spare some change?" (silence) (shuffle steps)

"Spare some change?"

KA-POW!! My arm springs away from my chest
fast with the clear bag swaying heavily from my closed fist. The man is
in disbelief. The bag is enormous. A quick second of silence passes as
the man looks at the bag, then me, then back at the bag again. Finally
he takes it and walks away. I look to my right and am greeted by a row
of smiling strangers greatly amused by my unexpected response. The
proud owner of the unrefutable answer they've often wished they had in
situations just like this one.

"So, what were you going to do with all those?" the woman to my left asks.

"Roll them up?" I offer.

Her guess was as good as mine.

I go into the bathroom and take a swig of
Listerine. At that same moment I realize I have to take a leak, which I
begin to do as I swish the Listerine in my mouth. 5 seconds later, in
mid-stream, my mouth is on absolute FIRE! There is no way I can keep
this stuff in my mouth any longer. I try to lean over to the sink to
spit but it begins to affect my accuracy to an alarming degree. I can't
make it. Synapses firing, my brain quickly tries to calculate the pain
difference between a mouth full of burning Listerine and shutting off
Mini-Shawn for a second. Then in a mix of panic, pain and magyver-ish
bravado I realize the obvious ....and I spit into the toilet. I survive
unscathed but shake my head and laugh wondering if I should be allowed
to leave the apartment without supervision.... ever.