Devon is next to me, and as soon as we open the door, his hand flies up to cover his face. He’s walking down the hallway now, trying to keep the foul smell from seeping through his fingers and into his nose and mouth. He doesn’t want to taste it. But it doesn’t bother me that much. It smells like my college fraternity house on a Sunday morning. Only more metallic. The undertones at the fraternity were always woody; this is more like sheet metal slathered in puke and cigars. It’s never smelled like this in here before. It’s always smelled…I don’t know…sexier. I wonder what’s changed. When we get to the big metal doors at the end of the hallway, Nate knocks on them hard. A second later, Brad peeks out at us. His face is pulpy and red. Like he got smacked around or something. His eyes move from Nate to Devon and then settle on me. “You’re here,” he says. “It’s about fucking time.” “Yea, well, some of us had to work today,”
