- The Watching “hotel” || August 17
The room doesn't belong to me, but it doesn't belong to anyone else either.
it just waits for the next body. The hallway is too long, stretched out like it wants to trick you into thinking something is waiting at the end. There’s always someone waiting at the end. I can hear the elevator ding every few minutes, like a clock I didn’t ask for. Room service carts pass by with trays stacked high, food nobody finishes.
The room is the same as every other hotel room i've stayed in out of boredom, white walls, a cheap print of a tree, nothing feels permanent, everything here is designed to look the same, so no one remembers it, beige walls, quiet carpets, windows that don't oepn all the way, the kind of place that convinces you you're comfortable, even when you're not. I walked the hall once, too many doors, all shut tight, all holding people who don't want to be known. That's what hotels are:“temporary boxes for temporary people”.
The television in my room flickers every few minutes. I didn't turn it on, just noticed the light bounce off the wall from the last guest's fingerprints on the screen. The minibar is locked; they don't trust anyone not to take more than they should. Funny, considering how easy it is to take everything else.
The lobby downstairs is wide but empty. From my window i can see other buildings, what a view. people think glass keeps them safe, but glass is only good for watching. The couple two doors down keeps their light on when they sleep, strange. The man on the floor below smokes, leaning halfway over the railing, like he's trying to fall but hasn't convinced himself yet.
The air here never changes, or it just how i think it goes. Cold, dry, recycled. It makes everyone look the same, Pale, Tired, drifting through the lobby like ghosts with luggage. Nobody talks, except when they order something. Even then, it's short, clipped, like they're afraid to admit they're staying here
I didn't unpack. I won't. Everything I need fits in one bag. and stays closed. There's no reason to spread yourself out in a place designed for leaving. This room isn't Mine, and it never will be. I'll stay long enough for it to stop feeling new, then I'll leave, and the next stranger will lie in the same bed, looking at the same print on the wall, wondering if anyone ever noticed they were here.
Hotels are made for forgetting. People check in, people vanish, Nobody cares. I could stay here for months and still be a stranger to this place, still just another door in the hallway. That's the only reason I like it. Nothing follows you inside. Nothing has to.
sincerely
Ahmed
at the hotel
