Black Tar Parfumerie Particulière
3
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The world is ending - we are dying!
This scenario of the world coming to an end not only knocks the smeller's socks off but also through the ceiling and, if there is none above, at least up to cloud 4 and through it.
A burnt stack of tires - freshly tarred road - exhaust fumes from the rubber factory - a dystopian wasteland landscape.
Deep black smoke from the maws of the greedy steam towers-orange smoke from the dusty ground.
Stacked oil barrels, one wants to escape into the poisoned waters of freedom.
Even the dirtiest, gray, dreary nuclear power plant cooling tower gasps for air, struggling for life.
"Climate change has permanently devastated the earth", sounds a wooden, dying tone from a flat-screen TV with a crack, which dies before it can finish the sentence of the newsreader, who is already dead at this point.
The sky burns into the horizon even more fiery red than before, before the scorching fireball that once called itself the sun kisses it. A dead bush blows away like a dandelion to black dust in the infernal wind.
In the end, the suspiciously silent night is left behind in a hot desert of rusted metal frames & the last survivor of this primeval catastrophe puts an end to human existence with a cheerful squat jump into a toxic lake so that he no longer has to endure the scorched soles of his feet.
A burnt stack of tires - freshly tarred road - exhaust fumes from the rubber factory - a dystopian wasteland landscape.
Deep black smoke from the maws of the greedy steam towers-orange smoke from the dusty ground.
Stacked oil barrels, one wants to escape into the poisoned waters of freedom.
Even the dirtiest, gray, dreary nuclear power plant cooling tower gasps for air, struggling for life.
"Climate change has permanently devastated the earth", sounds a wooden, dying tone from a flat-screen TV with a crack, which dies before it can finish the sentence of the newsreader, who is already dead at this point.
The sky burns into the horizon even more fiery red than before, before the scorching fireball that once called itself the sun kisses it. A dead bush blows away like a dandelion to black dust in the infernal wind.
In the end, the suspiciously silent night is left behind in a hot desert of rusted metal frames & the last survivor of this primeval catastrophe puts an end to human existence with a cheerful squat jump into a toxic lake so that he no longer has to endure the scorched soles of his feet.
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Eviaano 1 month ago
Incredible story of paper.
Bitter paper, packed as a pile, in a dramatic fall to the cold metal floor or the empty paper mill in retirement, full to the brim with goods left behind?
"Type Writer | Parfumerie Particulière" functions as a snapshot of a drama of metallic...
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