Whum-whum, went the dryer. Clink.
Martina bent over and peered inside.
Martina sighed and opened it up. She reached in and groped around until she came up with a heat-slicked dime, then slammed the door and let the dryer whir back to life.
"What the-?" Martina reached for the door again.
The dryer rocked on its base, shaking with every impact. Martina moved forward, then backed away, uncertain. The door burst open, scattering glass shrapnel in every direction, along with coins, paperclips, half-melted toys, and endless, endless streams of socks.
Not a single one of them matched.
That Pot Or Vase I Think
19 hours ago