Please choose your region and preferred language.
“Right,” she muttered. “You win.”
Not slowly. Not grudgingly.
The water sat in the sink like a dark, oily mirror. It hadn’t moved for three hours. Jenny poked at it with a spoon, and a foul belch of old food and grease bubbled up.
It vanished like it had somewhere better to be.
Her gran had sworn by it. “Caustic muck rots the pipes, love,” she used to say. “Bicarb’s kind. And stubborn.”
