Clean Mugs, by Eric J. Smith

She’d had enough of the Navy serving her tours and a shit-load more in the brig. While Ty droned on about the service—he’d been everywhere—Amanda stared over his shoulder and studied the barkeep washing the mugs. He’d stack twenty-five dirty mugs on a rack and lower it into a tub of hot soapy water. He pulled the rack up, dropped it into a second tub of clear—not-to-say clean—water, immediately pulled it out, and set it on a tray to drain. He stacked the clean mugs for another set of customers. That’s how they did it there.

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