The Pacific Northwest has never been so sexy.


He gnawed on the stalk of his pipe, the dull mahogany indented over the years. The latticework of lines upon his face deepened as he leaned back, his bones creaking as loudly as the ancient joints of his chair.

“You young ones always ask,” he murmured, the phlegm reverberating deep from the back of his throat. “Always wanting to know about the apocalypse.”

He took a deep draw of his pipe, the smoke sluggishly escaping from his bulbous nose. You couldn’t help but sniff as you caught the acrid aroma of tobacco.

“Happened about 50 years ago,” his milky eyes gazed a thousand miles away through you. “Old folk like me remember the world of Yesterday. Can’t tell you what really happened, though, or why. But it all crumbled to dust.”

He sighed as he released the pipe from his teeth and knocked out ashes onto the stained wooden floor.

“Maybe nobody ever knew what happened—” he rasped out three coughs before looking back at you. “But here we are.”

Apocalypse Vancouver 20XX

elcarath arasithil