Ms. Walbary stands aloof at the kitchen sink, alone in the depths of the jungle, staring into a
Spineless Indian Bamboo plant on the windowsill. With a fragile touch, she wipes off crumbs of
food from the dull plate used years ago as a little child. The chipped platter changes before her
eyes into expensive china with beautiful crescent designs along the sidelines. That fading image
soon obliterates into the air.

She washes forks and knives with endless strokes. Chapped, broken lips blow pieces of white
hair away from her ghost-like face. Her wrinkled skin reflects through the curvature spoon,
where her weary eyes stare deep into the rusty edges of the worn-out utensil.

Ms. Walbary startles; an engagement ring drowns in the soapy water. She realizes it is a string
of spaghetti wrapped around itself, floating to the surface. Emptiness lingers. She cleans dish
after dish with a slow and motionless movement, standing there like an empty corpse waiting for
another warm body. Bubbles that float above her are filled with empty holes that pop. Water
eventually evaporates and dies down, leaving the sink cold and hollow.