I sit in an empty hotel room. Another business trip. Another glass of wine. Turning the pages of 'Howl', a favourite poem. I'm not sure why I'm drinking the wine; I have nowhere to be, no one to see. I'm not sure why I'm wearing a knee-long, tight, black dress, red lipstick, and perfect eyeliner. It's probably just boredom. An empty hotel room in a city where I know no one except for the boring, and much older, colleagues I sat through a five hour meeting with before. Someone is playing electric guitar outside the hotel. I put 'Howl' away, and walk up to the window. It's a young man, not much older than myself. He has dark, curly hair and a bit of beard. He's standing right outside my window. Someone walks past him, puts some coins in his guitar case. He looks up, smiles at them. He has the warmest smile I've seen in a long time. But then again, the smiles I encounter on a day-to-day basis are dry, stiff, plastic. His is real. I watch him for several minutes, then I decide I need a smoke.

 

I take the elevator down a floor. I stop outside the hotel entrance, cigarette placed between my perfectly painted red lips. My lighter is a golden zippo one. I'm pretentious like that. My lighter is just as important as my cigarettes, and I never lend it to anyone else. I stand outside the hotel and watch him. My green eyes are piercing. I know; I've heard it several times. It doesn't take long before he notices me. I give him a vague smile as he does. When I've finished my cigarette, I go back inside. I go back to bed with my wine and my book, and not until after 15 minutes or so I walk up to the window. It doesn't take long before he sees me. I smile and wave. He nods and smiles back. I breathe on the window and write my room number on the misty window.

 

Within an hour, there's a knock on my door.