I try to secure what I see as I walk the streets of this town in mind. It’s almost a memory game. A listing of things, of sights, of overheard conversations that I make in my head as I return home. This morning it was sausages. A cling-film-wrapped try of raw sausages that lay on the pavement along Llanbadarn Road, priced £1.79. Clearly they had fallen out of someone’s shopping bag. Had they got home, anticipating their cooked breakfast and scratched their head at the absence of them? An incongruous sight. Seemingly, more akin to fiction than fact.
