Eleanor felt a familiar prickle of heat climb her neck. This was the same feeling she’d had watching her husband, Paul, pack a suitcase last spring. The feeling of pouring logic and love and routine into a situation, only to have it all come bubbling back up, unchanged.
The vinegar hissed as it hit the baking soda, a sharp, chemical whisper that promised a clean conscience. For Eleanor, it was the sound of order returning to a world that had, lately, felt profoundly out of control. baking soda in drain
She knelt, her knees cracking on the linoleum, and peered into the sink. A single black hair, impossibly long, coiled on the surface of the stagnant water. Not hers. Hers was short and grey. This was dark, almost blue. Eleanor felt a familiar prickle of heat climb her neck
A sluggish, greasy bubble of water rose from the depths, carrying the faint, rotten-sweet smell of old lettuce and forgotten leftovers. It sat there, a murky mirror reflecting the fluorescent light overhead. The vinegar hissed as it hit the baking