“Olive oil,” he announced at breakfast, holding up his phone like a sacred text. “It says here, three to five drops, warm, left to soak for ten minutes. Natural. Gentle. Millions of Italians can’t be wrong.”
“Well?” Margaret called from the living room.
He lay on the sofa, a tea towel draped over his ear like a patient at a disastrous spa. Ten minutes became twenty. The popping subsided, replaced by a profound, sticky fullness . He sat up. He turned his head to the right. The world was a muffled swamp. He turned his head to the left.