salt on your cereal

I could feel the heat of the day stored under my feet in the sticky tar pavements. Intimations of summer, or environmental disaster. A trickle of sweat drifted down my spine and I worried my shirt might stain.

– Louise Welsh, The Cutting Room, Cannongate, Edinburgh, 2002. p. 63

You can’t help what you see.

– Ibid., p. 218