Fritz had returned sometime later, sans bed sheets. He stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee directly from the pot, and pondered how he could keep the hidden coffee mugs a secret from Zooey. Eventually, she’d figure that something was wrong when there was nothing left to pour coffee into besides bowls and measuring cups.

Fritz considered his project an inspiration. An installation piece dedicated to dirty coffee mugs thoughtfully arranged in a neutral setting. Of course, he’d have to find a venue first. And transport would be a hassle. Spilling even a drop of week old coffee could throw off the balance completely. Plus there was evaporation to worry about.

These thoughts concerned Fritz. And soon, he was in the spare bedroom, thrusting open the closet door to reveal a small collection of dirty mugs spanning the past couple of weeks.

“I must have more,” he whispered to himself, scanning the collection skeptically, “Many, many more.”

He could hear footsteps. Quickly, he shut the door just in time.