There was a smell. It was not a good smell. It was also not a horrible smell. It was somewhere in the intersection between “strange” and “unpleasant”. And yet, somehow, it was strangely alluring. Even though it wasn’t a good smell, for some reason he felt the urge to keep smelling it.
He started to sniff. Clearly, the correct course of action would be to locate the source of the smell. Then it could be dealt with.
He paced back and forth across the apartment. He checked the trash first, followed by the bathroom, but it was no stronger there than anywhere. A small voice in the back of his head was worried that there was some kind of gas leak, but that didn’t seem likely.
After several minutes of searching the tiny apartment, he gave up. Maybe there was something stinky outside. It smelled equally everywhere. He sat down on the sofa, determined to watch enough television to forget the smell, and crossed his legs.
It slapped him right across the face. He wiggled his bare toes and released a new wave of stench.
He considered this carefully before reaching a conclusion: it must be his shoes.