He hosed the blood out the fireclay sink. A daily necessity since he was old enough to brush his own teeth. All part of the continued maintenance of his physical and mental health.
He knew that after a day spent staring into space at his desk he would find himself right back there again, watching the copper shades whirl clouded furls through the water. And if he didn’t, his teeth would clatter like dice down the yawning drain. Just once he would like to have a day where he could forgo the whole process.
He wondered if it would ever be his own blood and ran the faucet a little longer. To make sure each drop had gone below.
Chalk Snow 