Part 3
I stood in the bathroom looking into the single drawer, left open and with items in a haphazard array. I peered in to bear witness to the final sights of Jane. That was when it had hit home. I had seen what my daughters life had become. There, in the drawer, were the contents of what her life revolved around. A morose blue tube of some tawdry shade of lipstick laid there next to a bar of dial soap. Some little melancholy blue pills danced on top of weeping blue baggies. A length of surgical tubing had tumbled across a prescription bottle with the word methadone printed in somber blue along its label. A spoon of despondence blue was crossed by a lonely syringe, cheerless blue numbers etched along its side. Pensive blue razorblades and pessimism blue needles battled through out the drawer while an old lighter played its dirges while dressed in its dismal blues. Several pennies hid under the heartbroken blue border of a hand mirror, ashamed of their forlorn blue corrosion. Then I saw it, a picture of her and me, taken several years ago. Her sorrow blue eyes showed a great insight into what her life was even before the heroine. The last item in the drawer was a letter. It had been folded and refolded a number of times and even with out reading it the woebegone blue smudges caused by the falling of tears let me know what the note was.
I stood in the bathroom looking into the single drawer, left open and with items in a haphazard array. I peered in to bear witness to the final sights of Jane. That was when it had hit home. I had seen what my daughters life had become. There, in the drawer, were the contents of what her life revolved around. A morose blue tube of some tawdry shade of lipstick laid there next to a bar of dial soap. Some little melancholy blue pills danced on top of weeping blue baggies. A length of surgical tubing had tumbled across a prescription bottle with the word methadone printed in somber blue along its label. A spoon of despondence blue was crossed by a lonely syringe, cheerless blue numbers etched along its side. Pensive blue razorblades and pessimism blue needles battled through out the drawer while an old lighter played its dirges while dressed in its dismal blues. Several pennies hid under the heartbroken blue border of a hand mirror, ashamed of their forlorn blue corrosion. Then I saw it, a picture of her and me, taken several years ago. Her sorrow blue eyes showed a great insight into what her life was even before the heroine. The last item in the drawer was a letter. It had been folded and refolded a number of times and even with out reading it the woebegone blue smudges caused by the falling of tears let me know what the note was.
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But last night I worked on ironer 4, which is fitted sheets, and I worked on the actual barmops, and then ironer 2, which is flat sheets (and the fastest ironer we have *sweats*) and then I strapped. Indeed, a full night.