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Here's a sample from the book Deadset Mongrels, a crime novel.

He scanned the rocky gullies and arid hills for threats. The sensitive muscles around his eyes tightened against the glare, and his fair skin was hot and halfway to blisters. He was drying out, withering into a parched remnant of a man. He should have brought a hat with him. Or failing that, some water. Maybe there was some in the car. Nothing would induce him to drink anything that came out of that shipping container.