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WARNING: This page contains graphic content. When rescuers slowly creaked the rusty door open, the dilapidated building appeared to be empty. Windowless and dark, the sheet-metal structure held no noise, only air thick with spiderwebs, dust and the burning smell of ammonia. Then a head with small...
They were like moths to a flame or, more accurately, butterflies to a native plant. No sooner had I unloaded two joe-pye weed perennials from my car last August than three tiger swallowtails dive-bombed the pots, as if to validate my purchase. If only my fellow shoppers knew what they were missing...