The Scream. H. Briscoe

The heat was unbearable. The sun was stopped in the middle of the sky, refusing to move, firing missiles of heat down. You could almost see them as rippling waves that bounced off the black concrete paths, and feel them as they reflected up and hit you. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6312     If only there were grass, she thought, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. In the huge theme park, everything was manufactured - angular, flat surfaces, and shiny polished metal. Signposts painted with bright…