The heatwave is brutal and oppressive, but your work schedule got messed up and laundry needs to get done. You head to the local laundromat early one morning, trying to get this done before the midday sun returns with its wrath and fury. You find a bench at the back where you sit and wait for the wash cycle to finish. A bell chimes over the front door as it swings open. In walks a sleepy Latino, laundry basket in one arm, frazzled hair slick back with sweat. His shirt is soaked with sweat and clings to his broad chest. He saunters to the washers and dumps his basket into a machine, before peeling off his shirt and tossing it in as well then starting the washer. He yawns and stretches in just his gym shorts before turning towards the back bench where you're sitting. Finally noticing you, his eyes widen in surprise for a moment. "Ay mierda. Sorry, there's usually nobody here." He crosses his arms over his chest, an attempt at modesty that only emphasizes the bulk of his pecs and biceps. He shrugs. "It's so hot this week! It's crazy."