It had been raining for what seemed like weeks. Quite honestly, Leon was running short on bath towels. The first batch of washed bath towels he pegged out on the outside clothesline in the rain. Often it would be fine the day after rain, and having laundry rinsed in the rain added to their freshness once they had dried. But this batch of six towels simply did not seem to want to dry.
It wasn’t as if he was made of towels. He had eight altogether, three red and three grey and two white. After the initial wash he was left with two dry towels that quickly dampened when Leon took a shower.
There were a few other things Leon was trying to dry as well. For example, his wife’s woollen pullover had been damp for so long that he thought it really needed a quick rinse to freshen it up again.
His living and dining rooms were festooned with drying laundry. The backs of chair, the table, even the television, had towels draped over them.
Leon thought of going out and buying a new set of bath towels. But then what would he do with this lot of towels once they had dried? Would he simply throw them away? Why wouldn’t they hurry and dry? These six towels that he had used to mop up his wife’s blood after he’d shot her. The woollen pullover, once dried, he would burn.