Ah, sweat. I could write a volume on sweat. Dhaka is a town where sweat intermingles. You walk onto a bus with your shirt drenched with your own sweat, but soon, you’re squelching onto others, and you walk off the bus with the distinct smell and wetness of five other men. It’s pretty fucking gross. Your shirt dries hard. But another phenomenon caught my eye the other day: I couldn’t figure out why my shirts and jeans had horizontal white stains all over them. My auntie explained to me that the salt in the sweat solidifies as the shirt dries out. I’m caking my shirts in salt in some kind of geological process. My auntie is so smart.
Posted 2 years ago
