Yellow Cat's the Same as Canary The scent of tangerine. Dark grit eyebrows and the sweat on the smell of his cheeks; he makes a cough. Chuff chuff. Down here — the tunnel lit every twenty five paces if the rock allows, the chuff goes dry and ghastly — a powder instead of a moisture. He wiped his mouth. This is Bogrit — people who read his name call him B…
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2 years ago · Eric Westerlind