Ruins
Toronto Star
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The interior of the house had been torn apart and was barely recognizable. The scent of honey and pesticide hung thick in the air, and the floors and walls had been draped in white tarps. A mist of fungicide hung over everything like a shroud.
Covering his face with his sleeve to avoid breathing in the toxic fumes, Jason ran up the stairs and into his room. When he entered, he was surprised to see that his belongings were as he had left them. There were shirts strewn on the floor, and his TV was still on. A Netflix message flickered on the screen: “Are you still watching House Of Cards?”
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