Oh, thunder in my heart (II)

Her dad works in a "sweatshop." Not the controversial and socially unaccepted version of a sweatshop with hierarchy, cheap labour and possibly child workers, but the kind that is designed to generate actual sweat (although I'm sure sweatshops do that too). Because of the recent events that have construed its meaning, her dad's sweatshop is now called The Centre of Perspirational Science and Personal Chemistry (but the "gentleman's club" still calls it by its original name). The COPSPC is kind of like a gym, housing machines mechanically inclined to engineer worked muscle into heat into internal steam and into sweat (or that is how she thinks it works, she's not sure, because she can't see this or read about it in the dark, under the blanket). The sweat is measured in volumes of "out-pour" (this is a technical term they use). The centre does not deal with personal fitness, although muscle sculpting invariably happens during the process, creating pleasing effects for the subjects (sweat donors).