[ As they progress, the thundering of the huge drum becomes downright musical, his own notes layering over hers to create highs and lows of sound, slow when she pounds alone, fast and intricate when he adds his beats to hers. There is a particular procession they are to play, which a sour-faced instructor does give to them after a time, and it is that that they practice for the rest of the session.

When it is done, he is breathing hard, and rolling his shoulders. It was certainly an exertion; hot and strained he may be, but it is nice. From her expression, perhaps she feels the same...? ]

I like to imagine that I have less of my head up my arse.

[ He ignores the withering glance he receives from the nearest of their instructors. ]

I think now we are owed a bath and a drink.

[ A pause. ]

Shower. It is primarily showers here, is it not?