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The bowl of sugar sat there, staring up at him, as if to say “Welcome home, sucker.”

He wondered for a long time, if he hadn’t have just left it there and forgotten about it. I could’ve just picked it up and set it down elsewhere, he rationalized.

Glancing over his shoulder, he checked the contents that remained on top of the microwave. He made a mental list, analyzing each jar. Flour on the end, first from the right. Baking powder, not much, need to pick up more at the store, second to the end. Salt, only a pinch, throw it over your right shoulder should you spill, keep intake to a minimum, third from the end. But when he reached the fourth spot, the empty spot where the sugar usually remained, he stared for a long time. It was empty, nothing but space between the salt and the powered sugar.

But when had he moved it?