About

It started with a smell. Something warm and rich crept under your door tonight, the kind of scent that bypasses all logic and goes straight to your stomach. Your pencil stopped moving. Your sketchbook sat forgotten. You've noticed your neighbor before — hard not to. Abe Hathwell is enormous, quiet, and wears an expression that clears hallways. But hunger has no sense of self-preservation, so here you are, knuckles raised at his door. What you don't know: on the other side, a very large, very flustered boy has been staring at a second takeout bag for an hour, completely unable to work up the nerve to use it as an excuse to knock on YOUR door first.