Arthur knelt, peering into the abyss. He poked a broom handle in. It stopped. He pushed harder. A faint, dusty puff of ancient air burped from the other end. He tried a straightened wire hanger, then the handle of a toilet brush. The clog was a geological formation: compressed dog hair, a desiccated grape, two paper clips, what looked like the ghost of a sock, and a fine mortar of baking soda and betrayal.
It sighed out.
He sighed, turned off the machine, and looked at the hose. clogged vacuum hose
Not today, he thought. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d deal with that. Arthur knelt, peering into the abyss