For the last two nights, I have been rooming with a guy named Preston Martinez. Preston usually plays bass for The Afters, but on this tour is playing bass for Phil Wickham.

In the production office we generally have a candle of some kind burning to off set the smell of athletic stadiums, and sweaty crew. This week, the candle scent of choice was hazelnut cream. I don’t know what hazelnut cream really smells like, but this candle puts off a very strong smell of warm maple syrup. I don’t really like it myself. I feel like I am covered in syrup and I can’t get away from it, but some of the other office guys like it.

Last night, just before we went to sleep this conversation occurred in complete darkness.

Preston: “I have been smelling pancakes for three days.”

Me: “Yeah? That’s kind of gross.”

Preston: “It’s weird because when I was younger someone told me you smell pancakes right before you die.”

Me: “How would anyone know that, and still be able to tell you?”

Preston: “I have never thought about that, but I have been kind of freaked out all week. I feel like I need to be looking around for death.”

Me: “Show your face pancake death.”

Preston: “Do you smell it at all?”

Me: “Nope, I have no idea what you are talking about.”