Unnecessary but satisfying - the frosty crunch of fork on grog.
Feeling the weight in my hand, turning, looking, feeling. A line, a plane, an edge - something to keep.
It dries. The air is trapped. It pushes back. Surfaces swell.
My wrist aches.
The kidney flashes.
The surface shines.
A tiny hole to release the air. Inside is unseen. The clay is wetter, softer, organic. Releasing the needle,