Edward Hopper Chair Car

Edward Hopper Chair CarEdward Hopper A Woman in the SunUnknown Artist Mary Magdalene at the Tomb
Troll's Head was a cesspit of a different odour. Its customers, if they reformed, tidied themselves up and generally improved their image out of all recognition might, just might, aspire to be considered the utter dregs of humanity. And in the Shades, a dreg is a dreg.
By the way, the thing on the pole isn't a sign. When they decided to call the place the Troll's Head, they didn't mess about.
Feeling as he followed the demure and surprisingly small figure of Conina into the room. He looked sideways into the leering faces of men who would kill him sooner than think, and in fact would find it a great deal easier.
Where a respectable tavern would have had a bar there was just a row of squat black bottles and a couple of big barrels on trestles against the wall.
The silence tightened like a tourniquet. Any minute now, Rincewind thought.
A big fat man wearing nothing but a fur vest and sick, and clutching the grumbling hatbox to his chest, Rincewind stepped inside.Silence. It wrapped itself around them, nearly as thickly as the smoke of a dozen substances guaranteed to turn any normal brain to cheese. Suspicious eyes peered through the smog.A couple of dice clattered to a halt on a tabletop. They sounded very loud, and probably weren't showing Rincewind's lucky number.He was aware of the stares of several score of cus­tomers