Today’s Tigers performance was reminiscent of a slaughter house. The pitchers were swaying on the hooks, drying and with flies scattering when the masked workers would select a slab to carve.
Entrails and the slop of life made moist noises on the floor. I could barely contain my urge to expel everything I have ever eaten and run as far away from that gruesome scene as I could.
But my legs would not work and my eyes would not shut. All I could do is stare, mouth agape and let that putrid stench violate all of my senses.
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