3rd Floor

The air is so thick with stimuli that it's hard to concentrate. Voices murmur and yell in guttural languages you can't recognize, pots and pans clank in flowing sinks, food sizzles. Scents and stenches hang heavy. Boiled cabbage, sour cream, gasoline. They all mix and mingle in your nostrils. European techno pulses, vibrating loose the mucus in your lungs. You cough and take in a deep breath. An empty can of Natty Ice rolls in front of you.

You swear you hear a chainsaw in the distance.