I emerged onto a landscape destroyed: The husks of old, burnt out cars littered a broken highway, the distant skyline was populated only by the crumbling shells of what I assumed were once gleaming skyscrapers, and the air itself was the ruddy color of worn concrete. No birds chirped, no animals stirred; it was a world completely devoid of life.
“Jesus, I wound up in Baltimore.”
Who did the landscaping here, Dracula?
providing commentary on Hector's nightmares.
I can just slouch about, taking a look at the local scenery... Gargravarr:
Have you seen
the local scenery? A blast door grinds open, wind howls mournfully Zaphod:
Ah. Okay. Well, I'll just slouch about then...