Beads of sweat drip down my face.
I fall onto the leather couch,
quickly fanning a Styrofoam plate
In front of me.
The fan starts out slow.
The blades slice through the air,
but they are too slow for my taste.
I pull down the shortest chain.
Click.

The fan sends me into a trance.
The blast of air takes me back.
I can feel myself pushed away,
just as the fan forces down the air.
I feel the blades attack
with their slanted, wooden planks.
They spit dust into their realm.
Clumps of dirt scatter and then peel
Loose from their tufts.
The fan continues to spin,
Ignoring the fact that it has left behind
Its filth in form of small, gray particles.
The sound from the sharp rotating blades
appear almost like sneering to my ears.

The fan is at its fastest now.
The tips of my hair
rush back as I take in the artificial wind.
I pull down the shortest chain.
Click.

Off.