Next to the bathroom is a chintzy, stand-alone wardrobe, inside of which is nothing but a fluffy carpet of dust. Not a single hanger. No iron to salvage his button-up. From the plastic dry-cleaning bag, he fishes the wire hanger out of the suit jacket, then puts it through the collar of a white dress shirt to hang on the shower curtain rod. Only opens the hot water knob, letting the water gush and warm vapor waft. He tugs at the shirt’s hem to smooth the wrinkles out with the steam and an open palm, but he’s having even less luck with this shirt than with the one-dollar bill. After five minutes, the shirt-front’s creases still look like a faded highway map. He’ll have to call the billboard woman for an iron later.

He strips, turns on the shower, and intends to get his mother-fucking money’s worth. A long, unrushed soak. None of the in-and-out rinses from back when it was his name on the utility bill. He is, however, conservative with the single-serving tab of soap. Would be nice to get two washes out of this one, so he can pocket the second untouched and wrapped up for later. His skin goes rosy and tender, his lungs spongy with steam, and after fifteen minutes even his bones feel soaked through, wobbly and warm. He plugs the drain to start filling the tub. The last time he’d taken a bath had been with Michelle. Their tub had been just as cramped as this one, hardly suited for one adult body, let alone a second.

Henry’d been racking up as many overtime hours as possible back at the gold-plating plant, where his PO found him a job. Coming home to their singlewide one night, after his third or fourth double straight, he walked in on Michelle dozing off in the bathtub. He’d only wanted to brush his teeth before bed, too exhausted to strip and rinse the day off him. A cigarette butt, scorched past the filter, dropped from her lips to the water’s surface. Her eyelids had that trusting, lobe-like puff to them, which meant she was high. At that point, the pills had begun dulling her edges, but hadn’t yet scooped her hollow.

“Come here,” she cooed. “Squeeze in behind, like.”

At first he’d said no, but was too tired to argue. Worse, she really did look marvelous in there, which in that moment overrode any of his frustrations or concerns about the frequency of her dosing. Always a total sucker for her. Smacked mute and dopey at the sight of her skin all shiny and suds-patched. Those little tentacles of wet hair squiggling over her collarbone. He could have eaten her with a spoon.