She woke reluctantly to the unpleasant sound of eggs and bacon coming in from the kitchen. She’d heard that taste before, but didn’t think to inform the superintendent until it was too late, until she’d gotten up to find the breakfast engine dispensing the morning traffic report instead of her coffee and the grim news that followed, a foul stream of information flowing over the countertop and down to a growing pool on the floor, swirling around the tiny drain to the recycling system, overwhelmed, and backing up quickly.
The door, hearing nothing unusual in her frantic greens, stayed shut.
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