The grey cloud of despair  is almost propelled from thought when  The rust, dust, dirt, and grim your senses encounter, and endure  near to0 much to bare.
The *******, rubble, debris, detritus, and derelicts are littered about. The smell of **** permeates the air.
Any liquid is soaked up from the unholy union of dirt, mud, dust, dander, and whatever else.
I spill my waste on the ground after revealing myself in the cannikin. The vile fluid is soaked up by the soot of decaying society along side a beautiful section of nature and architecture.