A Handful of Sand
A Handful of Sand

Summary/Abstract: It’s snowing again; it must have started in the time where the night takes a break from its tormenting and delivers me to uniform blackness. You don’t hear it but you feel it behind the glass, and the noises from the street are softer, as if through cotton wool. The first bus came whining by at exactly five fifteen, picked up two frozen figures that maintained the uprightness of the alcohol in them by embracing, snorted as if in disdain at such a modest morsel of humanity, and went grumbling off up Victoria Street. The rubbish containers were emptied at half past five. A snowplough went past, pushing the powdery snow from the road into piles which would later be taken away on trucks. Cars began to trickle by until they filled all four lanes heading for the CBD, like monstrous bees swarming in to drink at a source of poison; their humming will only gradually die away around midnight, together with the roar of the aeroplanes taking off and landing every fifteen minutes; so close that you can read the names of the airlines, one more exotic than the next.

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