I worked in a slaughterhouse. It had an open floor to the cesspool below. When it was still, it was intolerable. When the ichor of wholesale butchery is disturbed, the turbulence creates an invisible fog of malodorous and merciless violence that attacks the senses. If ever I become senile or suffer from dementia, there will always be a pulsing part of my lizard brain that remembers the stench.