The effort it took to keep himself from vomiting was nothing short of herculean. The stench of the paste so strongly enveloped him that its taste seem to coat Double D’s throat and tongue until he was gagging, one hand pressed tightly under his chin. The scent of fish paste or sauce on a meal was usually a delicious touch, but the paste itself smelled of decaying fish. It was a very near thing.
There had been a small part of him, though, that reminded him at least Kevin was relatively safe.