"What's slab?" said Cheery.
"It are chloric ammonium an' radium mixed up. It give your head a tingle but melts troll brains. Big problem in der mountains and some buggers are makin' it here in der city and we tryin' to find how it get up dere. Mister Vimes is lettin' me run a"--Detritus concentrated--"pub-lic a-ware-ness campaign tellin' people what happens to buggers who sell it to kids..." He waved a hand at a large and rather crudely done poster on the wall. It said:
"SLAB: JUS' SAY
'AARRGHAARRGHPLEEASSENNONONOUGH.'"
He pushed open a door.
"Dis is der old privy wot we don't use no more, you can use it for mixin' up stuff, it the only place we got now, you have to clean it up first 'cos it smells like a toilet in here."
He opened another door. "And this der locker room," he said. "You got your own peg and dat, and dere's dese panels for getting changed behind 'cos we knows you dwarfs is modest. It a good life if you don't weaken. Mr. Vimes is OK but he a bit weird about some stuff, and he keepin' on sayin' stuff like dis city is a meltin' pot an' all der scum floats to der top, and stuff like dat. I'll give you your helmet an' badge in a minute but first--" he opened a rather larger locker on the other side of the room, which had "DTRiTUS" painted on it--"I got to go and hide dis hammer."
Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay*
*For the anon who simply requested "Detritus" -- I present you with the most quintessential Detritus moment I know.
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The divine feminine: listening to this; candles lit; coupla loads of laundry on spin; brown rice on the stove cooking with butter; salmon roasting in the oven; braless and tits sagging; puttering around and watering my plants; mariah underfoot playing; legs sore from getting a little stronger; rooted into the core and center of my womanhood.
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i should become a seer. mix weird potions. wear bone necklaces. speak in riddles. foretell the bloody downfall of the king
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my sister is starting a business and wants me to draw stickers for it so I'm just watching queer punk documentaries and listening to music while drawing neon themed stickers it's a nice day
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My work boots are the most expensive shoes I’ve ever owned.
Also the most comfortable. I chose them after trying on several different brands and comparing lifespan vs usage vs comfort - I needed them for a physically demanding job, not the weekend hiking trails. I could have easily chosen cheaper boots that would have lasted long enough to be worth their low price, but I know the Sam Vimes Boot Theory and knew weaker, less comfortable boots would make my life harder in the long run.
So when the outside edge of the heel started wearing down after three years of heavy use I went to the shop I got them from and said “hey this is a common problem for me with how I walk but now it’s affecting my ankles and knees and I don’t wanna have to buy a new pair, is there a way to fix this?”
The salesman at this very fancy upscale boot store said “oh yeah, there’s a shoe repair place that can give you some heel guards - it’ll keep the rubber from wearing out.”
So at 8am this morning right after my 9hr shift ends I went to the shoe repair shop and it is the most hole-in-the-wall, is-this-a-real-business-or-a-mafia-front, am-I-gonna-get-shot tiny cinder block cube I’ve ever seen in my life. I grew up plenty poor and love me a good hole-in-the-wall business, but going from upscale store to this cash-only repair shop gave me whiplash. Wasn’t expecting this when a guy who wears three piece suits to sell boots said it’s the best place to go.
The skinny kid behind the counter looks somehow 16 and 25 at the same time, but when I tell him this place was recommended he smiles and says to hand over my boots. I hand him the vaguely warm foot-smelling boots, and stand in my socks in the 3’ square entryway surrounded by every color leather polish you could buy and watch as he turns my boots around in his hands, sizes up a crescent moon bits of plastic, and unceremoniously hammers tiny nails through them before handing them back.
The heels are perfectly level again. I can walk without almost rolling my ankles. They don’t clack loudly on the pavement or feel different. This is gonna fix my knee pain. It cost $10.
This kid had every tool he needed within arms reach, worked fast and smoothly, I was in and out the door in less than 8 minutes, and it only cost $10.
I didn’t think anything could cost only $10 anymore. I’m so used to hyperinflation prices I was spiritually thrown back to the 1400’s visiting the cobbler in town square. This kid might have been that cobbler and just decided to never die.
I’m still reeling from the whiplash, and gobsmacked at the price, and thrilled I didn’t have to go buy new, worse work boots (cuz I don’t have that kind of money for a second pair, I’m expecting these ones to last a decade) and it feels like I just experienced one of the rare little chunks of magic that floats around our world.
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Apparently there was some kind of race scheduled at a local park or something so I've been trying to avoid the main trail but a little while ago when I had to cross near it I overheard the following shouted exchange
Higher feminine voice: woo, look at you go! You're jogging! Keep it up!
Lower masculine voice (panting): you know it! Last place is still a place, baby!
And goddamn if that didn't rewire my brain a little bit.
Last place is still a place, baby.
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