" The world had changed its attire in spring and what it was wearing now was a perfect fit to what it was deep inside: a controlling old slag who didn't care about anyone’s wishes and would ignore everyone who wouldn't live by her rules. Tom was finished with that cunt: the world behind the fogged up windows. He used to live in one of his own: a dirty but well-protected one that nobody had ever entered, since everyone who even tried was to be shot before they could make it over the threshold. "

― Sima B. Moussavian , As the moon began to rust