Verbena

Colourless, powerless, lifeless we appeared to them. Cloyingly gray, sickly and weak. Palefaces they called us...

Smoky oil. Hot metal shards. Assembly lines, print rolls, greasy pinions. Feeding the punch-clock. Industry sketched in black and white.

Smells like beer. Not freshly drawn, but disgustingly stale and sticky-sweet. Upsets the stomach, and wearing it feels like a hangover. :(

Sprays of salty mist dashing against the pier. A dogger crawling through the bay, haunted by greedy seagulls. Seaweed rocking on the waves.

The bitter soul of the blackest currant. Pepper seeds glowing purple. The echo of subterranean thunder. Rocky layers shaken in the deep.