Forgotten summer type. From that day in Italy when we took the train from Lucca to Florence and we all sat down in our seats and Karen turned to me and said, "I'm feeling a bit peckish", expecting me to pull out a snack when in fact I hadn't earlier shouted, from one to room to another, that, "yes, I have packed the crackers", but had in fact said, "yes, I have packed the plasters", and we all looked at each other and our four stomachs rumbled in unison as the train rattled along the tracks – the city and its snacks an hour or so ahead of us.
Rumble, rattle, rumble, rattle.
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