Awakening from Shadows

"The air in the French Quarter did not smell of freedom. It smelled of rotting jasmine and the ancestral humidity of the Mississippi, a sweet and nauseating mixture that clung to the skin like a second layer of cold sweat."

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"The air in the French Quarter did not smell of freedom. It smelled of rotting jasmine and the ancestral humidity of the Mississippi, a sweet and nauseating mixture that clung to the skin like a second layer of cold sweat."