Washing

He raised a gloved hand to his face. There was a glistening sheen to the thin latex. His nose twitched a little as he inhaled deeply.

Smelling her.
Her final throes.

He removed and dropped them into the fire pit. His coat too. And the rest of his clothes. Walked naked to the caravan where the kettle was whistling him over for a wash.

He felt the usual lurch of emptiness as he towelled himself dry and dressed. Nothing left to cling to.

Still.
Onto the next.
He carefully rinsed his potnoodle cup for recycling then began a fresh search.

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