Baking Soda | Clean Sink With

And somewhere in the architecture of memory, she imagined him nodding, smiling, and handing her a dry dish towel.

“Enough,” she said to the empty room. The philodendron on the windowsill offered no advice.

“There,” she whispered to Harold, wherever he was. “I finally figured it out.”

The baking soda looked like a light snowfall on a gray winter field. She took the old toothbrush, dipped it in a little water, and began to scrub.