There seems to be glass everywhere, for the last few days there have been small swathes of it on the roads: little sparklings at every U-turn and intersection. I’ve never seen so much glass.
And now, as I get to the head of the tailback on the
The glass is crunching under the tires now, the feeling of fingers on dishwasher-dry squeaky crystal: the piercing squeak of glass on glass and occasional pop of shards squeezed into flight. A horrible, nails on blackboard shudder passes down my spine.
Another Ramadan evening drive home, then.