The Creation of Lycabettus Hill
I would like to share with you a story, but in order for complete understanding, I must begin to describe the setting. There was once a workshop. A place where fire touched metal in order to create new artifacts. It was a small building, covering on a little patch of ground. The striking and pounding of the constant production was harsh on the ears of any who passed by. The shop was cluttered but for some odd and unknown reason, the men knew where to locate everything. The smoke was unbearable. It sauntered through the air, looking for lips to graze then lung to suffocate. Lighting was dim which saved eyes from rough scenes, like the men who had been laboring for days without end. The men were immune to the fumes they perspired, but they were foul and dreadful to unfamiliar noses. The fire burned hot on the faces of the workman, drawing tears from eyes and sweat from pores. It was odd to think though, with such immense amounts of heat, that such a place could feel so incredibly cold.
I love the way you explained this workshop. It makes me not really want to go there but in a way so interesting that I almost do want to come and see it. I love how you described it in such great detail and it seems like it would not be a fun place to go.
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