Soda

Sarah pours a glass of club soda and dyes it pink with food coloring before stepping into a fragrant bath. The bubbles froth around her like comforting hands. Her legs slick with soap, with worry, she scrubs herself clean until her skin is as pink as the soda. Outside, the sun sinks into the line of the river and construction workers sing their tools to sleep. She climbs out of the window to listen to their music, wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair dripping, wet feet braced against the cold metal slats of the fire escape. A skyscraper lacking poise wobbles in the distance, and she thinks it looks exactly like a fresh candle. If she stares hard enough, the setting sun will light it.