Torpid Tales: Chapter 10 The Gravy Train

It stank of stale beer. The gaze was casual, disinclined on the way up the hill but in the carriage it was frontal. It bobbed. I rolled up and read. A globular noise stirred. I focused on the not too clean refreshment shelf in front. As the smell rose and mutterings began I looked at the small white sachet of salt. SALT it said and below the type a rather beautiful drawing of a salt cellar. SALT. Well now I know.