colder if you stand

Its steaming hot rushing out of the steel faucet.
Should be soothing.
Might be for all he knows but he's not paying attention.
He's in the shower, starring at a blue shower curtain, figuring out where things should go from here.
The soap foams on his skin. Its soft rushing down his skin as the water pushes it away.
He leans against the wall, lets the spraying jet jet him down. There's a smell of vomit from where someone throw up their gin too early in the night. They must be drunk. He's sober. Drunk with confusion, though. Well, maybe not confusion. Impatience. That nails it down more. He leans against the wall, lets the spray of the jet massage across his body. A smell of vomit and gin and soap fills the misty air. Somebody had been drunk in the bathroom earlier. Couldn't hold things down. He's sober. Drunk with impatience, though. And indecisiveness. You know, the "what's next?" question. Indecisive is a good one to use. He's in the misty shower, letting the water wash away the suds on his body, suds that smell of an 'Island Breeze' but still don't mask the stink of gin induced vomit, in the shower calculating his life and his future but not really getting anywhere because as he stands in the shower he can't really tell the difference between white and black, figuratively speaking. He's starring at the nothing on the white shower wall and the nothing stares back.
It'll be cold when the hot water is gone.
Off snaps the faucet, open rips the blue curtain, splash goes the mist of the hot vapor into the cool bathroom air. He stands there bare. There's a towel across from him and he grabs it and wipes down and ties it around himself and runs his fingers through his hair.
The air is cold.
Colder as he stands.
He thinks to himself that he has to do something about it.