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ArtlessArtlessArtless by ~SalemScout
There was something about the toxic smell of the spray paint that made him feel like he was flying. He wasnt intentionally getting high, but between the practice of art and the fumes of the paint, he was somewhere between a joint and a bowl on the stoner scale. The old tunnel was all but abandoned ever since theyd put in the high and mighty fancy bridge over the highway. The place smelled of musk and dead rats, the air was muggy and clung to his skin like a blanket, and there was so little light that the flicker of his friends lighter made him flinch.
This was the kind of place art came to die.
Are you done