“For a moment he was lost in contemplation of the dark reaches of the mine; and as he sat there, deep beneath the crushing weight of the earth, his mind went back to his childhood, to his mother, when she was still pretty and game for the struggle, to how she’d been abandoned by his father who’d then come back to her after she’d married someone else, and how she’d divided herself between these two men who had both exploited her, and how she’d ended up rolling in the gutter with them, in all the wine and filth. His childhood…he could see the street now, and memories came flooding back; the dirty washing in the middle of the shop, the drinking sessions that made the whole house reek, the slaps across the face that could have broken a person’s jaw.”
Émile Zola, “Germinal”, 1885.
A Bird's Eye View of Fashion, Food, Travel, Culture, Beverage and Curiosity 