> First there was the fire, the smoke billowing infernally into the Appalachian night. It just kept burning. Days of insatiable flame. A black pillar of fumes took up residence above the town like an inert tornado. At its heart, we learned, was the corpse of a train, fifty cars off the rails
To me, even Shakespeare’s Richard III didn’t begin with this level of overly flowery poetic structure.
To me, even Shakespeare’s Richard III didn’t begin with this level of overly flowery poetic structure.