Literature
Evangeline Taylor: Reborn
Bony knees pulled up to her chin, she sat there with naive blue eyes swarming with curiosity. From the black, worn-out leather couch, the little girl quietly watched her mother hunched over the chipped coffee table. The room, which reeked with the smell of heavy alcohol, mildew, and cigarettes, was cramped and congested with trash and dingy furniture that appeared to be on its last leg (quite literally for some). If you try focusing on perhaps the crooked drapes or peeling walls, your senses slowly adapt to the stench, and it might just begin to feel like a home.
Of contempt, that is.
Tho