But the nectar was a black tar pasted over my old life, onto which the images on screen stuck like feathers. No scrap of memory was spared. Everywhere I looked I saw only aggression, only anger, only death.
But the nectar was a black tar pasted over my old life, onto which the images on screen stuck like feathers. No scrap of memory was spared. Everywhere I looked I saw only aggression, only anger, only death.