It didn’t matter how long he was exposed to the chemical, he would never get used to it. The smell burned in this throat and watered his eyes to the point where everything was blurry. It was an awful smell, acidy and stinging..

                               But it was the only thing that drowned out the shit smell of the circus’s cages. From elephants to lions, the trailers were stacked full of them. When Clint wasn’t training with Chisholm (being pawned off was his specialty), he was washing elephant shit out of cages.

              That’s the only thing he remembers when he’s pouring it down the drain again, after another rough night, after another well-picked fight, after stitching himself up again, washing the sink out with the white bottle of the stuff.

                                       All he can smell is popcorn and elephants and bitter resentment of a drunk criminal who lost a bed and was burdened to train a kid like Clint.