Scratching the surface of sharp rocks for comfort and that raw feeling that follows the application of salt on open wounds.
Salt in this case from the other side of the face, the sweat and the tears that burn in the afternoon sun. Where the realisation comes thick and fast, unlike the hairs on the back of the neck. Constantly in use, abuse, misuse. Looking for a chance to become another slice of refuse.
Disuse and the wipe away from the brow to the crown. Straight line with a slight bend and curve that circles round the back to deliver unto it a justice most unflattering for those unconcerned.
Written on Wednesday, 29 August 2007