He could smell his want, his need, a teasing scent in the air. Warm, elusive, and he found himself chasing it, frustration increasing each time he lost it, nose full of the smell of clean cotton, the slightly dry air of the air conditioning, the dusty, cold smell of papers and books. He could almost taste it, his craving, if he thought hard enough, but no imagination lived up to the real thing, and he’s left lying, staring up at his bare bulb in the ceiling, to ponder about his hunger.
Take this stomach flu away from me it hurts so much
I have a lot of VERY BAD PHOTOSHOP BRUSHES gdi where do i find good photoshop brushes.