It’s All the Salt’s Fault
Click, frame change, click, frame change. The narrator presents her family in snapshots: the father in his youth, the mother posing in an armchair, siblings, birthdays, excursions, the usual. But the commentary by the daughter looking back adds something profoundly salty, perhaps even poisoned, to the unfolded normalcy. Tiny insults accumulate into sadness. It (almost) doesn’t matter that the family members in question are sloths.