I watch the spots of grey water fly off my hands, and I think how strange it is that such a filthy room should be connected with cleanliness. I think about the order of my routine, the waste and the wash. I brush my teeth mere inches from my toilet. I'm sucking in that same air. And people wonder why I make a fuss over closing the lid. Why would they make it if they wanted us to leave it open?
Soap and dirt and waste and water, that's all it is. A natural, unsightly thing. More a part of us than we'd like to think. You know how filthy your handbag is, miss?
I still wash my hands. I'm good at it. I used to rub them until they bled, until the soap and scalding water made them so cracked and dry that they had no other choice but to heal.
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