When I walked onto the alpaca farm for the first time the stench was like a lemon, slowly beginning to rot in the bowl. A smell that forced your lunch back up your throat, rapidly. Trying so hard not to vomit all over the greened lemon. You can never get it out of head. Piercing your nose; stinging your senses. As your head starts to ache, you finally dispose of the terrible old fruit and leave the farm.
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