The bin is right there. Geology is a word that feels like permission.

You crack the lid. Dust that is not soil looks like soil if you are in a hurry. Imani’s voice finds you fast, because Imani has met hurry before.

“That salt is a perchlorate story,” she says. “Not a mineral treat. Stop and I will still like you. Dump it and I will still like you, and I will also bag a bay.”

Oskar has the bags ready, which is not comforting.

You can still put the lid back and be a person who reads skulls. You can still sprinkle because Mars should help.