Shell sorts and heaps and consolidates. She finds a laundry basket, in the closet, and because it landed upside-down it is not already full; she fills it. She gazes exasperatedly at the things that appear in the spaces she's cleared; apparently apartments don't just fill up and then stop, they fill up and then become disgruntled about it.

Eventually, for a change of pace, she opens the door to the bathroom to see just how much shampoo she has now.

This door reveals no shampoo at all.

"- Oh," she breathes, because she can't remember the name of the place, can't remember what it is, did not until this moment remember that there was such a thing to have been forgotten, but this feels like a thing that can happen, and now it has. "Oh, oh, oh."

And the thing that has happened means: go inside. It is safe. It is better than where you are.