Dirty Laundry...
It was one of those days. I hadn't slept well; waking before my alarm. My mirror was depressing, my shower hasty; knocking bottles off the darkened shelf. I left early and waited for the geriatric train. Tears threatened when the scissors slipped. Being demoted sucks. Having to beg to use the bathroom, normally I don't get lunch break coverage, that day someone offered and I retreated to the room we call the closet with high ceilings. My job is not intellectually challenging, it's a lot of details which aren't my specialty, but at least they hadn't fired me.
An empty coffee carafe near the overflowing sink made my bad day worse. Sharp pains stabbed my lower back as I grabbed a worn out towel. A familiar voice above me spoke as I studied his shoes. He said he would take the dirty towels, then left them in a swampy pile. Through the northern windows I could see scattered salt. Cold, hard, dusty, useless in this weather; a metaphor for my life. Back at my desk; the wet towels were gone, a warm soft stack of freshly folded ones rested in their place.