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Sarah sat on the damp concrete floor, the stench of ancient, anaerobic water filling the basement. Her back ached, her hands were raw from the auger’s handle, and the soggy, half-washed towels lay in a weeping heap in a plastic laundry basket. The washing machine, now empty and silent, looked defeated. A thin, brownish trickle of water was still weeping from the open cleanout.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, sliding off the couch. drain clogged washing machine
She lifted the lid, and the machine gasped to a halt. Inside, the clothes were suspended in a murky, gray-brown soup. The water level was still halfway up the drum. A sour, musty smell, like a forgotten gym bag and old mop water, wafted up. She prodded the sodden mass with a wooden spoon. A dark, lint-furred tendril of water clung to the spoon. Sarah sat on the damp concrete floor, the
