Quin: Necrorium ChristmasNone of the Norway rats were getting injected with nickel sulfate or inhaling forced cigarette smoke because it was the lab directors birthday (he joked) but really because it was Christs (traditionally). The rabbits in the room next door werent wearing their contact lenses and the dogs in cages two floors up werent receiving trial heart parts because the researchers responsible were home for their holiday meals. Quin and I sat in the rat lab (third floor medschool hospital wing once burned out and since turned over to research) blabbing profundities and munching a wedge of blue cheese and guzzling a bottle of bourbon. Maybe too boozy we walked downstairs four flights (one too many by mistake if anything does happen by mistake) to face a grey furnace and a white door labeled NECRORIUM and Do Not Enter but since it was left unlocked we did. Faint light from a late foggy afternoon filtered through the basement window barely making it across the chilly room to three gurneys standing head-to-toe on each of which some dampened burlap covered a corpse or rather a cadaver. The only one we looked at looked Chinese and felt surprisingly solid as well as frigid unstaring and apparently uncaring (unlike us) of the black waiting waist-high wooden boxes coffining cleanly severed arms and legs or that shelf of human heads in bell jars. Woozy we walked the flight upstairs out into the cool refreshing evening mist making our way to the little cafe nearby still exhaling essence of formaldehyde (did we close the necrorium door?) hungry for some holiday hamburgers.