Thursday, April 30, 2015

Edward St Aubyn, Never Mind

'She imagined vodka poured over ice and all the cubes that had been frosted turning clear and collapsing in the glass and the ice cracking, like a spine in the hands of a confident osteopath. All the sticky, awkward cubes of ice floating together, tinkling their frost thrown off to the side of the glass, and the vodka cold and unctuous in her mouth.'