The alarm sounded at 5:30; not that Harry needed it. His brain had crackled and popped all night under the weight of those last words before she left: "The last ten of these thirty years have been hell."
She took only her toothbrush. She left the rest of those years behind. Left it all with Harry... the twenty-odd pairs of shoes (some odd); the good china and the everyday dinnerware; the toothless cat and the hairless dog. Harry got it all.
She swept it all away with her little brush and took the clothes on her back down the walkway and around the corner, and that was that.
Harry's brain had buzzed all night, and he knew the neighbors would be buzzing before the end of the day, and he hoped Mr. Coffee (she'd left that, too; she'd left all of it) would provide enough buzz to get him through the day.
Peace to all, and keep the buzz respectable.