Bates went into the apartment bedroom. A potted red venerem certis fungus, commonly called lover’s lips, occupied one of the nightstands; it looked hideous but smelled intriguing. He sniffed the plant, shrugged and slid open the closet door. A man’s clothing occupied the left side; the right side was empty. He tried on shoes and settled on a pair of comfortable light boots.
Next stop was the refrigerator. Bates pulled on the handle; it didn’t open. “Hey, buddy,” it said, “You’re too smart to be one of the people who can open me, and too ugly to be the other.”
Bates drew the machine into the room. “I know I’ve made some very poor decisions recently,” the refrigerator babbled. “But I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal. I’ve still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence …”
he reached behind it and yanked the plug. Inside the refrigerator were gourmet goodies, all unopened. It was a classic Synod Church case; all temptation and no pleasure.
Bates cracked a beer.