It was a tiny spot really, just a smear of grease. Possibly it was the remains of a little squashed fly, snuffed out in the middle of its existence, hmm, maybe. I tried to ignore it, I turned away but each time I passed it was there and it called to me, mocking me. Huh – you think you’re perfect well look you left a smear, you left the innards of a tiny creature daubed across the glass, spread over the shiny, newly cleaned window.
literally stories 
