Sand and Subway Tiles

The evening pavement had surrendered its appeal, so I slipped beneath our front door and made straight for the bathroom. Walking across the damp bath mat would have been terribly unimaginative. Instead, I reached both long arms up the cold chrome towel rail, swinging my torso onto the narrow frosted glass ledge beneath the mirror. Perched between a ceramic beaker and the wall, I found a small wooden hourglass resting on its base. One casual nudge of my heel sent it flipping end over end, settling upright with a muffled tap. Overhead vanity bulbs threw crisp geometric silhouettes of trickling dark sand across the white subway tiles. A very tidy measure of nothing at all, wouldn't you say?