Few things terrify me more than the idea of succumbing to the banality of life, the routine, of becoming stagnant and predictable and ordinary. Once the newness of a place has faded into familiarity, once the mystery and novelty and magic have long since fled, the tedious procession of days sets in.... and the rot and decay of complacency stagnate the air until they choke the last rays of sun which desperately claw their way through the dust to caress the ground one last time.. and then they, too, are swallowed by the insatiable fog of monotony as it devours the last traces of.. life.