Life tastes of old bread and long-opened chips. A haggard breath hanging in the heat. A swollen tongue lolling and sticking to the roof of your mouth getting in the way of lazy words that seek to dash the doldrums. Sometimes the gaze of life is piercing and sometimes (now) it is donut holes iced over and left out overnight and then left out overnight again. The muted voice of an underwater murmurer muttering into cotton-filled ears something half-hearted and uninteresting. Life is umami for dessert after a gluttonous feast and never have I so craved the bright citrus peal of an orange.