It was an average, typical Saturday night at first. A group of friends out and about in the big city. Bar hoping and drinking till they began to fall over each other. Finally, Hank was in the gutter and we all stopped to play nursemaid as best as our drunken selves could. I think it was Olivia who pointed out that there was alphabet soup streaming down the gutter Hank had fallen into. It was coming on like a small river too. Someone, somewhere, up the road was dumping a lot of soup. All the sudden we all noticed a foul smell emanating from the soup. It smelled like rancid death, an abattoir gone bad. It was about then that we all added to the bad smell of the gutter. I threw out everything I’d been wearing that night once I got home.