Today from the Plastic Bag of Squee: Stormclouds over the Midway
Today I grabbed Stormclouds Over the Midway:
In your smoke-addled confusion, the Midway seems strangely empty and devoid of life. The tents that line the path appear distorted, out of proportion, and cartoonish, their angles arching menacingly.
For a moment, the only sound you hear is the soft squelch of your boots on the damp ground. As your eyes adjust, the tents right themselves, the sounds of the Midway swirl around you, and you feel the press of the crowd against your body. The Calliope's eerie drone lilts above the swelling chatter.
Wine-colored storm clouds are gathering, and the scent of incense and ozone is thick in the wet air.
Thunder-charged ozone, plum-colored incense smoke, opium tar, and wormwood.
In the imp and wet: Incense and opium, definitely plum-colored, thick and a little bitter.
Dry: Out comes the ozone. Still very incense-and-opium-y, smoky, but smoke with impending rain and lightning looming over it threatening to blow it out of the air. On the right guy this would be hypnotic, even though it reads a little feminine; there's something very menacing about it. It's quite "toppy." I keep hearing The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove...