Marcus laughed, though the sound echoed flatly off the wet brick. “You’re a poet, Del.”
“Del, look,” Marcus whispered, pointing at the vent stack’s base. A slick, oily sheen covered the brick, but it wasn’t grease. It was a fine, dust-like film, the color of rust and bone. sewer vent cleaning
Above, the iron grate clanged shut. The light vanished. Marcus laughed, though the sound echoed flatly off