The Sauna Diaries

Part One

First, let’s clear something up, you fucks

When I say part one it implies in our culture that there will be another part. But there won’t be.

Here, the phrase ‘Part/One’ is a special two-word seed mantra known as a sang dzu for meditating on the indivisibility of form and emptiness.

But never mind that for now.

Normally I spend twenty minutes in the sauna. I’m almost religious about this. But today I stayed for thirty-six minutes.

There’s always an interesting mix of people.

There are two Australian blokes, both bald and fat, covered in tattoos with chains and giant finger rings. And they’re going at each other talking about football and suburban stuff. I can tell by the way they sit and talk and breathe that they were probably criminals or underworld figures back in the day.

And behind them is a thin Vietnamese bloke. He looks tranquil, like he is meditating, until he opens his mouth.

“You’re full of shit, you Greek bastard,” he says to one of the Aussie guys.

“Fuck off, you skinny Asian cunt,” says one of the Aussies. “And I’m not fucking Greek, he is…”