You snatch up a handful of sand with your bare hands, and then clench the grains so hard that the lactic builds up in your wrist, spreading out like a fan to the end of your fingertips until your entire hand feels numb and weak from the effort.

You let go, and let that handful of sand – now moulded into a moist clump thanks to your exertion, fall off. But then you realise that no matter how many times you dust your hands off, no matter how many times you slap your hands against your thighs to knock off the remaining particles, there will always be that remaining stubborn few grains clinging to your palm.