a crime scene no one wanted to investigate.
The scent of fryer grease drifted into the night.
It smelled, unmistakably, like victory — and like something too deep, too artificial, to ever scrub out.
Jobs. Carbs. Freedom.™ (Continued)
Translations
a crime scene no one wanted to investigate.
The scent of fryer grease drifted into the night.
It smelled, unmistakably, like victory — and like something too deep, too artificial, to ever scrub out.