There are clothes pattered on the walls mirrors unbroken but dusted and musted slightly in their corners that hold just those tiny bits of extra dirt and grime that take just a moment more of time than you’d like to spend clearing the spots and marks in the little cracks and crevices you barely ever notice anyway except those little moments you walk by and the streaks all subside and the mites meandering call to you seduce your view to indulge a bit of elbow grease before you can rest in peace what little grains sink at the rag’s shake the line that pulls you awake rub by rub first hard then gently buffs away into thin air