“While this dump was reviled by humans, to Shadow it was a magical place of the most succulent fragrances . . . of rotting meat and fermenting apples. He braved the ravaging moths and the mad hornets to romp among the piles of garbage, intoxicated by the smells of life on earth—of brine in the pick-ling vat, coffee grounds, blackened toast, the flat, moist plug of apple tobacco, decaying books, broken hens’ eggs, sawdust shavings, and the whiff of the cold metal in the mattress springs. His nose trembled in the flutter of his nostrils. The odor of metal was so potent he could taste the steel in his mouth.”