Coming back from lunch I pass a man running up the stair of our building. Nothing unusual about that, except he appeared to have a fair quantity of salt cradled in the palm of his hand. I’ve been unable to come up with the sort of scenario that would involve having to transfer so much salt up the stairs where you wouldn’t just grab whatever the salt was it, or at least a glass or something to hold it in.
Maybe it wasn’t salt, but sugar. Perhaps he’d popped into the other office under the pretence of “borrowing a cup of sugar” so he could meet the girl of his dreams, but was out-foxed when they didn’t have any spare cups, thinking on his feet he carried the sugar away in his hands to keep up the deception …
Or maybe not.