not just a name
As I lifted myself off of the laminated cushion, I felt cold. I silently cursed myself for failing to bring my soft blanket downstairs, the one my mother gave me for a Christmas present a year earlier. Now I felt scared. It was around three in the morning, and that still darkness was creeping into places I normally didn't fear. It was these glasses. I had misplaced my standard spectacles earlier and was now required to don my prescription shades. It was easier to read this late with them -- head back, book to the ceiling -- but after one looks away from the light it becomes much clearer where you are. The lobby was dead. All I could hear was the deafening noise of the refrigeration coils in the soda machine; a powerful ghostly hum that tells you exactly how quiet the rest of the world is. I checked the front desk and had some trouble spotting the unconscious clerk laying horizontally between two chairs. Amazing that I could be the last living soul in this building of three hundred. Ascending to the second floor there is a silent fan running full speed in the kitchen. I was startled to hear only that phantom song from the lobby. My smoked frames seemed to accent the quiet. They made all the lights out to be 40-watt ambers in a cloud of fog. Someone had turned off the main switch on the second floor, so the only lights there came from the grey fluorescent light fixtures. Somehow they had all accumulated a dense patch of insect carcasses in the exact center of the sheath. How consistent those sarcophagi. It was as though Jack Nicholson could swing an axe right through any door. An empty hotel is quite intimidating. I heard a loud thump, most likely a door absent-mindedly returned to its hinges by some frat fuck. I don't mind the company, I just wish they had something to talk about. I can't help but think I look a little suspicious (creepy?) sitting there with my hands locked together in the kitchen, patiently staring at the open doorway. Dark glasses. Leather jacket. Not a sound save for that infernal coke machine. I wanted to go to bed, but I needed to finish this book. My esteemed Audra is getting more than a little impatient with my procrastination, and I desperately want to help her out. But I still have time.
I always fumble putting my key into the lock. As I opened my door I'm greeted by JJ's ever present but always startling asthmatic bursts. I swear to God it sounds like he's screaming in his sleep. I'll never get used to that. My phone's spurious little transmissions play games with my monitor. The screen will shake, my speakers will give out little pops and squeals, and I just feel that much more uncomfortable. Today was tiring. I have an early start tomorrow. I fear that I may dream.
I always fumble putting my key into the lock. As I opened my door I'm greeted by JJ's ever present but always startling asthmatic bursts. I swear to God it sounds like he's screaming in his sleep. I'll never get used to that. My phone's spurious little transmissions play games with my monitor. The screen will shake, my speakers will give out little pops and squeals, and I just feel that much more uncomfortable. Today was tiring. I have an early start tomorrow. I fear that I may dream.