cobwebs of neural pathways

No square inch of countertop is visible. Bottles of every fashion crowd against each other, all the way from the counter edge up to the mirror, interspersed with bright containers of color. The horde of jars and its reflection creates the illusion of a metropolis of glass and metal and paint, a Mecca of perfume flasks, hair products, and makeup. The drawers are full to the brim. The second drawer from the top on the left is filled with nail polish, base coat, top coat, and every shade one could possibly imagine. Bath luxuries swamp the two drawers below: essential oils, salts, teas, milks, melts, bath bombs, and bubble baths. To the right, the top two drawers are packed with more perfumes, and makeup, still in their packages, never touched. Among them swim schools of tiny samples: fragrances, lip balms, and hand creams. The bottom right two drawers are filled with moisturizers, body butters, body mists, and massage oils. The remaining drawer (the top left drawer) stays stark and reserved for prescriptions and a small first aid kit. Under the sink, boxes upon boxes of items are carefully arranged so as to not come sailing out whenever a roll of paper or feminine necessity is needed.

The closet exists in a similarly satiated state, with boxes of shoes lined along the floor and stacked against the walls, the masonry of their collective structure truly elegant. Purses stake their claim of the shelves, lounging like wildcats, basking in their own magnificence. Designer clothes drape from every hanger, pushing at the walls, calling for their offseason brethren stored away across the apartment.