I think the guy in the apartment on the other side of the bedroom wall has a stay-at-home job.
He’s a diligent worker. There’s not an hour, day or night, when his smoke doesn’t fill up my room, my lungs, and my future. And the business seems to be doing well — he now has two shifts going, utilizing an associate called a “girlfriend” to smoke up the hours when, like all men, our entrepreneur must rest.
No use opening the window. It comes in that way too.
Never live next door to a factory.