Chapter 74: Who Needs a Clean Fridge?

The neon green cup with the cat in the center sits on the edge of my kitchen counter. Right below it on the floor, my trash can waits. It will take one quick flick of my hand to send the cheap souvenir container over into the bin. Then it's a simple tie job before I walk the bag to the trash and throw away a piece of Trey. I should do it.

I lean with my back against the opposite counter and stare at the cup with narrow eyes. My lips pucker as I visualize the cup falling off the edge with a small clink as it hits the glass container of spoiled mayo. Cleaning out my fridge was not a top priority before I jumped on a plane almost two months ago. All I need to do is reach across the space and tap the cup in. I can do it.