They stabbed the man yesterday. It was humid. The man was sweating. He stank of sweat and stale beer when she tried to revive him. There were many holes in his body, where the knives went in. She didn’t know his name but his breath haunted her for weeks. She smelt it on the mouths of strangers on the bus or lining up for groceries. She thought it was odd that she found the content of his lungs in these places when it had been so absent—just a trace—in him.
