It smelled male, but not in a flattering sense. It was the kind of odor that hit you dead center of the face, like a fist wrapped in a sweaty jock strap. Paint was peeling from the walls that had been tuned up to an industrial gray around the time she’d been born. There were rusty splotches in the ceiling from water damage and a grimy beige floor so soaked with sweat and blood the fumes of both rose up like fetid fog. She imagined the men who frequented the place breathed it in like perfume.
