Jonathan hated the shelter because it always smelled like feet. Whether in the common area, where smoking was still allowed, or in the pre-war shower stalls, or in the large galley, one could not escape the scent of lower human appendages. When asked why he frequented the shelter, Jonathan often replied that he had experienced a momentary set-back and his present condition would soon change. In fact, he had a friend down in St. Petersburg who was holding an apartment and a job for him; he would go on to explain how his writing was going extremely well and that his current project would soon be complete. All the shelter staff thought that Jonathan was a real winner and did their best to avoid him and his tall tales, especially the ones about how his time in the shelter was just done to gather material; they were afraid of his temper besides. But it was always in the night after lights-out that Jonathan’s true nature came out: no one knew if it was fear of the dark, too much booze during the day, or plain old schizophrenia, but Jonathan spent his nights telling ever more grand stories to no one in particular about his books, financial contracts, and impending wealth.