Michael Baker brushed his hair, placing the comb to the roots where they parted, running it from side to side. It was important to be presentable, to clean up before day’s end. It was something every man should do before climbing into bed. Woman or no woman, it was a proper task.
He leaned in towards the mirror and looked up his nose. With his finger he brushed away what had gathered around the edges of his nostrils, the stuff that his body had made to complicate matters.
He was not a new man. He knew this staring at the reflection of his face. I am the same stillness at the bottom of the lake, he thought, the same Michael Baker. He coughed and spat what came up into the sink. He left the washroom.