Alfred D'Ambra Purse Your Lips For gusts of fall will swirl skirts of trash and coat your teeth with dust to boot.
The executives at Microsoft and Yahoo, its would-be competitors in the linked fields of web searching and maps, must be grinding their teeth to dust.
They included the 2012 Stained Tooth from Dusted Valley, a big, dense, brooding wine, and the 2013 Ex Umbris from Owen Roe, dense and polished and, for now, wrapped tight in its tannic structure.
"It's a shit business," he would say – through gritted teeth, while dusting himself down ahead of the next rejection – of a music industry he still believed he could conquer.
"The degradation caused by the fire make it very difficult to extract the DNA that will allow identification," Murillo said, adding that the teeth turned to dust when handled.
The roads were dry, and by the time we reached the firing range, my teeth felt gritty with dust, though my mouth had been shut the whole trip.
The bodies were so badly charred that all that is left are fragments of bones and scattered teeth that disintegrate into dust at the mere touch.
Cue: every greying, middle-age-spreading Crash reader grinding their teeth to a fine dust.
When we got back to Hotel Pleasant Haveli, we showered, brushed our teeth, shook the endless dust and sand off of our clothes and headed outside to enjoy our last day in Jaisalmer.
I mean bad dying, where every day the unmoving dullness and static monotony of your life burns the gumption from your blood cells until you're just a putrescent bin liner full of pigs' trotters waiting to be crushed by the sticky teeth of an old dust truck.
