nonfiction

Hotel

“I’ll stay here”, My coworkers left without looking back. They chose an evening of adventure, I chose to whittle away my time in a room that is not mine nor anyone elses. I’ve always loved hotel rooms. Everything is lavish from the double two toned curtains to the top of the line feather pillows. Of course this depends on where you stay, I’ve sat on comforters filthy enough to require an immediate std test, washed my hands in sinks that didn’t produce water, and carpets with stains that even Billy Mays can’t get out.
This hotel room is clean, well furnished, and cold. The air conditioner hums away, lightly blowing the curtains forward keeping the room right on the precipice of comfortably cold and full blown permafrost. I claim the bed closet to the door, it’s something I’ve always done(I feel to vulnerable next to the floor length window). The comforter is like a chai tea latte, warm, soothing, and an aesthetic blend of earth tones. At the head of the bed there is a collection of throw pillows. I honor their name and toss them onto the floor. I lean back against the head board. I find the remote on the nightstand in between the two beds. I turn on the T.V. The tourist station pops up first. An array of colors and primitive windows movie maker transition plague the screen. I turn to the nightstand. The phone is on my side and underneath it is a tablet and a bic. To the right is the alarm clock, and a New King James is resting silently in the top drawer.
Thousands of people have sat on this bed, been through this drawer yet the only proof is the sanitary strip that keeps the toilet lid strapped to its base. There are no belongings, no memories in this room. Just a monochromatic wallpaper, a poly-blend carpet, and a freshly cleaned bathroom. The room is not subject to the deterioration of human travels, it is constant and unchanging (apart from updating the decor once a millennium). It’s daunting, having no effect
I suppose the room feels the same way. When you tell someone about your weekend in Vegas, at the most you say your room was “nice”. Although it is a pivotal point in planning your trip you forget about it as soon as the payment is approved. Sure, its not always the case, you can drop a couple grand for a suite but who goes to Vegas for that?
I sit here alone, with the drone of the air conditioner, the billowing of the curtains and the light pollution from the t.v, waiting for my coworkers to return from making memories.

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