Early

Early pushed open the door to her cluttered apartment, the hinges creaking in protest. Her tired eyes swept over the familiar mess: the stack of old bills on the kitchen spool, the overflowing ashtray by the worn-out recliner, and the mountain of laundry she could never seem to get through. She sighed, kicking off her steel-toed shoes and letting them thud against the wall.

Her body ached from hours of maneuvering pallets. Lift, move, stack—all day—every day—forever. A relaxing bath at the end of the day was one of her little joys, and she'd been thinking about the lavender Epsom salt she bought recently. All the energy drinks in her system had worn off, and all she wanted was a nice bath and a few hours of sleep if she could get it. Sleep, precious sleep.

"Lorda mercy," she muttered, trudging into the bathroom. She flicked on the light and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes, and a hint of grime still clinging to her matted fur. But she didn't have the motivation to care tonight.

The bathtub, with its chipped enamel and rust-stained drain, was a little sanctuary in her weary existence. She reached into the cabinet above the sink, searching for the bag of Epsom salt she knew she had bought recently. Her hand groped through various items—a bottle of dollar store ibuprofen, a new box of bandages, cold medicine, and a bottle of elderberry drops—but there was no Epsom salt. She was sure she had put it there.

Early's heart sank. She knelt down and opened the cabinet beneath the sink, her frustration mounting as she shuffled through unopened cleaning supplies, a dirty magazine from the previous tenant, and an old, tangled hair dryer. Still nothing. She sat back on her heels, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of agitation. It was just like everything else in her life—never where she needed it to be.

With a resigned sigh, she stood up, her joints cracking. "Guess it's just me and the hot water tonight."