Premise: I sat soaking at about 100F, while an exuberant gentleman on my left, who was wearing his washcloth draped over his head, gave me his four words of  New York, Broadway, Niagara Falls, Grand Canyon .  The real cultural joy, however, lay in just immersing myself in this aura, evoking Dante and 8??, and watching the occupants through the steamy haze as they lathered, rinsed, and squatted on little plastic stools to shave before low-hung misted mirrors against the walls'all this before I slap-slapped back to my room to enjoy dinner on the floor.

Hypothesis: I was soaking my feet specifically as they are sore.
Relation: neutral