Murky lake and the search for Inner Keys

"I was swimming in a murky, brownish lake behind an old bowling alley, trying to reach a floating white plastic cooler that I thought had my house keys inside. The water was surprisingly warm, almost like bathwater, but it felt heavy, like trying to paddle through liquid soap. I made it to the edge of a wooden dock, but when I reached up to grab the plank, my fingers slipped on the slimy green moss underneath. My legs felt completely useless, like lead weights tied to my ankles, and I couldn't get enough leverage to pull my head above the surface. I swallowed a mouthful of the warm, metallic-tasting water and started sinking backward, watching the sunlight filtering through the ripples turn into a dull, greenish blur. My lungs felt tight and full of pressure, but I couldn't stop looking at a yellow plastic comb resting on the lake bed right below my feet. Then I was suddenly lying on my stomach on a cold linoleum floor inside a quiet laundromat, holding a wet paper towel against my face. A washing machine nearby was spinning on its rinse cycle, making a rhythmic *slosh-slosh* sound that made my stomach turn. I wasn't in the lake anymore, but I still had that sharp, suffocating panic trapped in my throat, and I was terrified to take a deep breath because I thought my lungs were still full of water. Woke up gasping, sitting bolt upright and clutching the collar of my shirt."