The soap bubbles are bursting one by one, big ones first. Her hands are pushed into latex gloves that stretch and snap into place. Through the kitchen window there comes a cool breeze carrying the smell of barbecuing and the sound of a dog barking and a distant siren.
She scrubs and rinses a plate, places it in the drying rack. She does the same with another. The dog has stopped barking, the siren persists.
Someone falls over the back fence, lands heavily in unraked leaves. She watches them struggle to unsteady feet, begin shambling towards her. She stops scrubbing.