Today, Sunny kept saying that his office smelled. Now, him being of the 'pizza box in my car for three years, laundry in my backseat, bottles of hot sauce sitting on the corner of my desk" mentality, we ignored (and mocked) his claims of hovering death.
"Doesn't your office always smell this way?"
"Face it Sunny. It smells like your old car"
"Is that your underwear in that pile?"
"Sunny, why don't you clean everything before we start tearing apart the ceiling?"
We lit candles. He cleaned. The hallway smelled overwhelmingly of orange cleaning oil. And still, he sat there with a discontent look on his face. Crinkling his nose. I rolled my eyes at him, and told him maybe he was like Pig-Pen with odor instead of dust.
We were all being super nice.
Imagine our chagrin when the building maintenance came round, climbed a ladder to look above the ceiling squares, and pulled out four decomposing mice.
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