“...I emerge into streets that wind like dark rivers through cavernous brick rock faces. The moon and her little shining daughters glimmer wanly. Cold winds ooze like molasses down from the foothills and mountains and clog the night-city with drifting rubbish. I share the streets with aimlessly moving scraps of paper and little whirlwinds of dust, with motes that pass like erratic thieves under eaves and through doors...”
Perdido Street Station, China Mieville
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