Yeah that's the kind of thing. Like the smell of that same pub when the doors first open each night. The musk of fags lit many moons prior. The sigh of the walls as they face another night of absorbing second-hand clouds of carcinogens. Another night knowing that that same discolouring stench will forever cling to them like a captain to his ship. 3000 nights in a row. "When will they finally tear me down and bring my misery to an end?" the walls whisper inaudibly, to no one.
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