I loved that scouring brush. I truly did. I had dreams of running away, making a better life for myself. And I was gonna take my brush with me I was. I would scrub, wearing my emerald garters which made me no better than I should be, but I would scrub and say brush, only you brushy know my secrets. My real soul. I had respect for that brush. His bristles were stuck out in all different directions and I could twist my wrist just right to get the tippy tips of them right in any crack and dig and dig with it and watch in that crucial moment the soap turning brown and all the dirt coming out but not completely. Rather a mess it could make too! Flicking brown bubbles this way and that. Always missing the bucket with it, a large bucket too. I tell you I loved that scouring brush. I would have taken him with me too, but that would have been stealing and I thought more of myself poor as I am.