“Oh man, oh man, oh man,” I’m saying to myself as I fumble through unlocking the door to the apartment. This has been the coolest day ever. The door flings open, and I’m greeted by a swirling morass of an olfactory catastrophe.

“Du-u-ude,” my roommate calls from the kitchen, though I know he’s not talking to me.

“Dolf, you idiot! What did you do this time?” I yell as I grimace my way into the heavy air of the apartment.

His childlike glee is bubbling over, “Nick! Am I glad to see you. You are never going to believe it. I’ve isolated isopentyl acetate right here in the kitchen. Sure, it took a lot of tries, and I had to borrow a few supplies…”

“Dolf. Why does our apartment smell like King Kong’s belch?”

“Oh, um, isopentyl acetate,” he answers a little sheepishly, the chemical-laden wind taken out of his sails. But then he sees my face, “Wa-a-ait a minute. You’re still smiling.”

I can’t help it. I wipe the dirt from my brow, “Yeah. I met a girl, in the woods.”

“She hot?”