Whenever my sister, Sandra, would visit us in San Francisco, I'd take her down to Chinatown. Roasted-to-a-crisp ducks hanging in windows, cheap kitschy tchotchkies, more people per square block than any other place in America paled in comparison to our favorite, culturally-insensitive game: What's That Smell.
To be honest, like in all cultures, some of the fragrances were not so enticing to our Greek beaks. But nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing compares to the mind-boggling, noxious "bouquet" of Gus's locker room after 3 on 3 hockey!
His socks alone could be classified as a weapon of mass destruction!
God help me if he ever starts wrestling.
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