Fortunately, he was an older man, a kitchen worker named Fred who didn’t favor loud music, didn’t snore too loudly, and wasn’t too much of a slob. He did come from the old school, though, that dictated regular bathing to be antithetical to proper thermal insulation during the winter. As a result, he smelled bad enough to make my eyes water. He wasn’t in the room much, however, and was already gone when I woke up from only four hours of sleep the next morning. But not for long. He came banging through the door just as I was pulling on my pants. “Max, come outside. You gotta see this.” I looked at his wide, excited, bloodshot eyes and decided not to argue, pulling my boots on without socks and my coat without a shirt, all while Fred stood before me, literally dancing from foot to foot, chanting, “You won’t believe it, you won’t believe it.” It was, admittedly, a sight to behold.
