Pool_1

A long pause followed, the music unheard, Ringer lost in the asparagus in the far reaches of the stockroom, Layon somewhere in the bowels of the subterranean world rubbing himself until his big moment comes, and only Benny seemingly appropriate to the moment in his frozen pose. "One can never see into the 'heart, the mind, the soul of another'", Mac quoted Baldwin with an air of -see? I read it! Jake warned, "Some have no hearts, no souls... they consume those who do." Evening came quickly. With it came the reason that five full time men were hired to do nothing. It was the swill, vats and vats of swill. The metal vats were about four foot in diameter and about five feet tall, filled to the brim with all the warm wet food debris of the day from the kitchen and from returned uneaten food - fermented in the kitchen's heat - kind of like large vats of gelatinous puke, but smelling worse. A vomit compost. The first part was easy enough, just hold your breath and push the sleds, on which the vats stood, to the dock edge where a hook and chain rig tipped the vats over to a plopping gush. It reminded Marcus of a medieval castle defense, the pouring of boiling oil from a cauldron onto the attackers below. Somehow, this stuff seemed, at least at this proximity, worse. Not until the first swill vat was dumped into the swill vehicle sitting in the port, did he get the full aroma, the full air stopping, lung plugging, vile stench. "Ooooooooh oooooooh God! Can food make this smell? OH, this is awful! Let's get these things emptied and get the hell out of here," he bellowed over the loud rattle of the swill truck engine. Benny suddenly became animated and guffawed, "He ain't done yet. He ain't done the good part," followed by Goofyesque haw haws.