Night 49 - Pantry (Second Floor)
[from Waiting Room/Lobby 1]
S.T. took one long step through the door and straight into a shelf directly at eye level. The impact made very little sound in and of itself. "Fuck." He stopped, and rubbed his face. "What the fuck?" The lingering dizziness could have been a result of hitting his head, except that it had happened before.
He brought his flashlight up and stared at the shelf. Andy Warhol's masterpiece stared back. "No, I'm serious. This was a hallway. Crowded, too. Tell me I'm not going crazy."
He put one foot up on the ladder and spread out his map on a knee. This wasn't the pantry on the first floor -- at least not the one he'd been in, and the two had looked symmetrical from the map. Assuming he could trust a damn thing about the map. Jersey and their construction projects. If I-95 couldn't keep up a coherent narrative, expecting it from this place was sheer stupidity. At least this time he'd gotten lost somewhere useful. "And see if there's any plastic baggies."
S.T. took one long step through the door and straight into a shelf directly at eye level. The impact made very little sound in and of itself. "Fuck." He stopped, and rubbed his face. "What the fuck?" The lingering dizziness could have been a result of hitting his head, except that it had happened before.
He brought his flashlight up and stared at the shelf. Andy Warhol's masterpiece stared back. "No, I'm serious. This was a hallway. Crowded, too. Tell me I'm not going crazy."
He put one foot up on the ladder and spread out his map on a knee. This wasn't the pantry on the first floor -- at least not the one he'd been in, and the two had looked symmetrical from the map. Assuming he could trust a damn thing about the map. Jersey and their construction projects. If I-95 couldn't keep up a coherent narrative, expecting it from this place was sheer stupidity. At least this time he'd gotten lost somewhere useful. "And see if there's any plastic baggies."