AwesomesauceRockstar

Then they'd haul the cage back in, with its catch of miners dredged from the mountain's cavity. Even their eyeballs were black, see - they'd look like buried men dug back from coal hells to return in silence to villages of wives and children. Smoking kills say the scattered packets of Lambert. But, we live squeezed between hollowed monoliths, lurking along roads clogged by town after town. If this air that tastes of roof tiles doesn't kill us; if this damp, that keeps us damp until the rain returns, doesn't kill us; if the pressure of each person's personal slag heap weighted with history doesn't crush us then we'll risk a cigaret