Hotel- 1.
She walked up to the counter.
"I need a room for the night."
"Sure."
John took out his credit card. Jake processed everything, knocking his doodlings off of the desk accidentally.
She stared, looking distant.
"Room 312." Jake handed over 2 sets of keys.
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Jake listened to the quiet of the late night and the noise seeping in from the restaurant. He heard drunken laughter and a man squealing and giggling, high-pitched. He exhaled in and out sharply. It had been overcast earlier that day and outside it had felt heavy and humid. There was something unusually heavy about everything at that moment.
She walked into the lobby, still wearing her coat.
"Excuse me, do you happen to have a cigarette, by any chance?"
"No. Sorry." He smiled a little but felt afraid. It was late.
"Thanks, man." She briskly walked out the lobby door, with purpose.
There was something strange and familiar about her. She smelled fearful, too, covered up with some kind of incense-like scent. He looked around and then quickly sniffed each of his armpits. He wondered if it was the kind of day where it's getting warmer and strange smells come wafting in for no reason. Or just the drunks in the restaurant. Jake thought he glimpsed her, pacing back and forth a few times, outside.
About 20 minutes passed.
She walked by again, with a strangely guilty, forced smile. She passed into the stairwell.
Jake rested his head on the check-in counter for a minute or two. Then he sat down at the desk and began to doodle again. The lobby felt colder, for some reason.
------------------
She hesitated before she slipped her key in the card reader.
The bathroom door was closed. She guessed that he was already jerking off.
"Fuck this guy," she muttered. Her lower back felt a pang.
She was leaning back on the bed slightly, one ankle rested on one knee, Marlene Dietrich-style.
John walked out in his underwear. Little boy tightie-whities. He knelt in front of her.
"Hey God, or whatever, please let this guy fall asleep after a couple of hours" she thought.
"Tell me what you want me to do" he said.
She laughed. Big pealing, hysterical, ringing laughter, the laughter of a suppressed musician. It echoed in the room. It seemed to echo throughout the whole silence of the hotel.
She pushed him down on the bed and started to choke him lightly. "I want you to shut the fuck up for 20 fucking minutes. And go get me some fucking cigarettes. Put on a coat; it's cold out."
He put it on. He looked like a flasher. She smiled. He opened the door and walked out. She switched on CNN. She closed her eyes. There were drunks laughing and screaming down the hallways, suddenly. The commentator was discussing Sharia law.
Mistress Sharia. Always cruel in the name of God. She said it to herself.
"I need a room for the night."
"Sure."
John took out his credit card. Jake processed everything, knocking his doodlings off of the desk accidentally.
She stared, looking distant.
"Room 312." Jake handed over 2 sets of keys.
--------------
Jake listened to the quiet of the late night and the noise seeping in from the restaurant. He heard drunken laughter and a man squealing and giggling, high-pitched. He exhaled in and out sharply. It had been overcast earlier that day and outside it had felt heavy and humid. There was something unusually heavy about everything at that moment.
She walked into the lobby, still wearing her coat.
"Excuse me, do you happen to have a cigarette, by any chance?"
"No. Sorry." He smiled a little but felt afraid. It was late.
"Thanks, man." She briskly walked out the lobby door, with purpose.
There was something strange and familiar about her. She smelled fearful, too, covered up with some kind of incense-like scent. He looked around and then quickly sniffed each of his armpits. He wondered if it was the kind of day where it's getting warmer and strange smells come wafting in for no reason. Or just the drunks in the restaurant. Jake thought he glimpsed her, pacing back and forth a few times, outside.
About 20 minutes passed.
She walked by again, with a strangely guilty, forced smile. She passed into the stairwell.
Jake rested his head on the check-in counter for a minute or two. Then he sat down at the desk and began to doodle again. The lobby felt colder, for some reason.
------------------
She hesitated before she slipped her key in the card reader.
The bathroom door was closed. She guessed that he was already jerking off.
"Fuck this guy," she muttered. Her lower back felt a pang.
She was leaning back on the bed slightly, one ankle rested on one knee, Marlene Dietrich-style.
John walked out in his underwear. Little boy tightie-whities. He knelt in front of her.
"Hey God, or whatever, please let this guy fall asleep after a couple of hours" she thought.
"Tell me what you want me to do" he said.
She laughed. Big pealing, hysterical, ringing laughter, the laughter of a suppressed musician. It echoed in the room. It seemed to echo throughout the whole silence of the hotel.
She pushed him down on the bed and started to choke him lightly. "I want you to shut the fuck up for 20 fucking minutes. And go get me some fucking cigarettes. Put on a coat; it's cold out."
He put it on. He looked like a flasher. She smiled. He opened the door and walked out. She switched on CNN. She closed her eyes. There were drunks laughing and screaming down the hallways, suddenly. The commentator was discussing Sharia law.
Mistress Sharia. Always cruel in the name of God. She said it to herself.
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