"It sure smells like
March Madness in here,"
I offer with a grimace, scanning the
room for the cadaver responsible for the
acrid cloud of aroma
lingering. If I possessed
a machete, I would
lop my own nose off,
but not to spite my face.
As I wonder how paint still
manages to cling to these long
suffering walls, I step into a
brown bag of...
Continue reading...