I keep a whetstone in the kitchen sink at home now

Not for the restaurant jobs, just for me. There's something about the last pass on a blade when it starts to grab the edge — that tiny catch — that makes me feel like the day was worth something. Lately I've been reading everything through that same lens. The hand and the blade both wear down, and I can't always tell which one I am anymore. Tomorrow I'll be in someone's kitchen again, and the stone will still be the silent one in the conversation.