what is the word

I live in an old slaughterhouse. I don't know what kind of animals died there. I haven't gone out of my way to research it. I haven't heard the ghosts of them squealing or lowing or clucking in the walls at nite. So it is a mystery, & I'm happy to keep it that way.
The other evening I was out for dinner with my new roomie & Anna & Marcelo, & we were talking about old warehouses in the neighborhood. So Laura asked me what it was our building used to be, anyway.
Well, I said. I guess it turns out it was a slaughterhouse, I said.
A slaughterhouse? She blinked. Then she said, quite brightly, Oh, no, I think it was a sweater factory. In fact I'm sure someone told me it was a sweater factory, so that's what it was.
Marcelo laughed. Did Kat say slaughterhouse? he said. I thought she said that too at first. Slaughterhouse, sweater factory. It's easy to get them confused.
So history has been rewritten, in true Orwellian fashion. I now live in a former sweater factory, with nothing but the ghosts of chenille & pearl buttons roaming the hallways in eternal limbo. It's much nicer that way.
While we're on the subject, the other day someone told me some prick in Bushwick is having the German word for "slaughterhouse" tattooed across his knuckles. Now that is truly disturbing.