Monday, May 11, 2015

On Friday afternoon I noted that the liquid hand-soap wand had broken off the dispenser that was set into the men’s room counter. There it lay in its little puddle of milky scum. Like a dead thing that had vomited for its final breath. The fixture it had fallen from stood useless and bereft, gaping at the sink with its little black maw.

Today the little scene remained exactly in place.