Tales from the hermitage:
Bean toothed winos shuffled by, as I stood bewildered in front of a bleak and tarnished hotel on Duncan street. I flipped the vets business card over rechecking the hand written address again and again. Hoping to see a different number every time, but this was the place. This had to be some kind of mistake, I reasoned to myself, else why would Jack Russell puppies be for sale in this terrible hell hole?
A wall of darkness enveloped me as I stepped through the hotels main doorway and into what I sensed was a massive ornate ballroom. Only through the hollow acoustics could I tell that the room was immense, for I could not see a thing. All I could do was stand there at the entrance feeling exposed in an alien world, until my eyes began to adjust. Lurid smoke infested catacombs began to greet me, with dark boozehounds huddled over ancient and tired beer drench tables, like pigs at a trough. The pallid chamber was completely devoid of joy. Long ago, happiness had been knifed in the back, and dragged out and dumped in the alley. Through a weak pink nebulous light, echoed the haunting rifts of Led Zeppelin's, Kashmir. The smell of retch and puke mingled with piss and beer, chocked me to the edge of vomit.


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