The worst of it was over; the woman had stopped massaging and begun arranging hot stones in a row down her backbone ...The victim here is Thóra Gudmundsdóttir, the lawyer/investigator/protagonist of Yrsa Sigurðardóttir's crime novels, and I sympathize with her. I once paid ten dollars for a neck massage in Central Park. I expected relaxation. Instead, I discovered aches and discomfort in parts of my body I'd never been aware of.
"Will it be much longer?" Thóra asked hopefully. "I think the energy's penetrated every single cell. I'm beginning to feel great."
"What?" The masseuse was incredulous. "Are you sure? It's supposed to take a lot longer."
Thóra suppressed a groan. "Positive. It's brilliant. I can tell I'm done."
© Peter Rozovsky 2009