Arlock writes (personal). An outlet for Glossolalia

Telling through description

It was hot:

The Acropolis seems to shimmer, slightly out of focus, its ancient stone reflecting the sun.

Around us gawking tourists suck greedily on their water bottles, reconsidered their choice of leaving the sanctuary of air-conditioned hotels. It is 10 am, and the only shade is claimed by the feral dogs.

The rain was heavy:

It advanced across the city-scape, looking like a grey curtain, sounding like a stampede. Trees bent under the assault, while tourists fled for the dubious protection of their tour bus.

The moon was shining:

Colours were washed out, the edges of things seeming sharper. Here, away from the street lights, the shadows danced. They were darker and more primal than those that lived under the sun, more solid, more alive, children of a silver mother.

Our meal was delicious:

…used the last crusts of his bread to mop the remaining sauce off the plate. If there hadn’t been so many potential witnesses present, he probably would have licked it as well.

His drink was sweet:

…took a sip and gagged. “What is this, sugar water? Get me a real god damned drink!”

The office stank:

A thousand careers had come here to die, their corpses contributing to the fetid miasma of the room


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