Dean trudged outside, dodging puddles from an overnight downpour. Opening the bin, he tossed the bag onto the pile, and closed the lid hastily. All the while he held his breath to avoid catching the heady olfactory experience of rotten food, gunpowder, abramelin oil, goofer dust, eviscera, monster fluids various . . . The bunker's trash could be an interesting mix.
He was beyond the parking lot before he could cleanse his lungs with fresh air. The breeze brought smells of ordinary daily life: exhaust fumes, tarmac, freshly mowed grass, damp earth.
Occasionally simple things made up for a lot.
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