She'd never thought of salt as art. She'd never thought about salt at all, to be fair, other than dropping some in with the pasta, or shaking it over chips. But there was something in the making of it – the crystals sharp against her fingertips, the sparkle on her tongue. She'd never thought of salt as a way of getting somewhere – from her three bed semi by the community centre to here: glass and lights, flowers and music, right in the middle of town, and all of them – the salt-makers – with a place at the table.