He went on foot across the wilder recesses of the park, where slimy streams of green moisture, exuding from decayed holes caused by old amputations, ran down the bark of the oaks and elms, the rind below being coated with a lichenous wash as green as emerald.

As he churned out early versions of the Quake III engine, the mappers and artists felt adrift, with no direction on what to pursue.

Some of the waitresses disappeared, others stood against the bar talking to the nonbuying customers.

You tend to the toshing, let Mester Hobday tend to the dealing.