The fourth floor always smelled…Like chemicals. It assaulted her the moment she stepped off the elevator onto the faded, hard linoleum. There it was: rank and caustic, overwhelming and pungent enough to make her nostrils burn. Her stomach lurched, took a tumble, remembering, recalling that…bitter stench. It was permanently inscribed, as Oscar Wilde would say, in the diary that she carried about with her.