This “living dead” industry has been written off time and time again, yet it continues to clamber back to its feet and lumber blindly onward.
The corridor stinks of sweat and cigarette smoke, and I daringly open the window a little. The freshest air floats in, smelling of sappy grasses, the delicate pollens of wild flowers, the resins of the pine forests; hinting atthe chill blue scent of distant snows.
That’s a true fact, you can Wikipedia that shizz.
[…] always he appeared at right or left, sometimes even on a log astream,
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