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March 26, 2011
The tap drips slowly, pathetically. She leans back, watching it, letting the soapy ocean envelope her, the porcelain cold under jer shrivelled fingertips. She carefully lowers herself into the water until the tip of her nose is completely submerged, the soap stinging her tired eyes. The world is muffled, distant from her; the hum of the washing machine,echoed voices from the fllat above. The midday traffic rushes past the bathroom window, open just far enough to fill the tiny room with the icy January air. The flat was so much emptier since the children left.