You step into the elevator, exhausted from driving for about 7 straight hours. You’re just longing for the warm bed you’re gonna find in your new suite. “Everything looks fine in this motel,” you think, and after reaching the 5th floor and being shown to your room, you collapse on the couch and close your eyes. That’s when you realize you just don’t want to keep them shut. Your eyelids feel so heavy, but you keep your eyes wide open. You look funny that way.
“What’s that?” you whisper, slowly walking towards me. Then you just stand there motionless, exactly like me. You’re not looking at me. You’re looking at the telephone on the table next to you. Wait… why are you calling the reception?
“…Yes, if it is possible, may I take that painting out of the room?”
Now your back is at me, but I can imagine how you’d look like when you hear the receptionist say, “Oh, we don’t use paintings in any room. There’s only a window on the wall, in every… suite. Umm, sir? Hello?”