In the unfamiliar kitchen, I smell at the box of white cristals, to make sure it's not sugar I'm sprinkling on the food.
Unexpectedly, I retch. The salt here has a special smell. They mine it from under the rock, but that's not what makes me retch. It comes from very far away, from a day I haven't thought about in decades, but here it is, all pristine and prousty (Beat that: 2 words that manage to be synonyms and antonyms at the same time)
My older sister and a friend, maybe 10 years old at the time, were fighting over the leadership of a yet unborn girl gang. They decided on a test of willpower. The one who ate more salt would be the boss. God knows where that challenge came from. So they did, spoonful after spoonful. They didn't get very far, maybe 2 or 3 spoons each. They felt very bad very fast, I (?) went to seek some help, they were brought to a hospital. I remember feeling disappointed, I'd been expecting a long thrill...
Left alone that day, of course, I tried the salt. Just a tiny spoon, not even really full.
Home is where the poison is.