Victorian Nocturne

It could have been worse. For instance it could have been raining which, quite surprisingly, it wasn't. Indeed, it was blisteringly hot out, especially for this time of night. Or morning, whichever one preferred. It was the kind of heat that made everything more tangible, when right now his conscious mind wished for nothing more than to be in a little steel box where he didn't have to experience any kind of reality, especially the one in a dark little alley where everything smelled of death.

( It's like being violently knurd. )

( Selected quotes from the questioning of one 'Oliver Norwood.' )