Batten down the wallet hatches, stow the pounds below deck, eat the fivers – barely a month after the closing of the Autumn sale and its awards, the Winter sale has descended on Steam like a terrible maelstrom, demanding tithes and sacrifices, disappearing all who stand in its way and eating their hearts. I don’t know where this metaphor is going. The sale is either a storm or an Aztec god. Make up your own mind.
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