Plastic keycard against the hotel room door. Lock beeps, light flashes green. He takes a deep breath.
A warm hand on cold metal. He twists the doorknob slightly, carefully.
The door inches open and he slips into the room. He hears the hairdryer hum. His fists clench.
Quick strides past the unmade bed and the pile of dirty clothes until he’s outside the bathroom door.
Pokes his head in. She’s still in her oversized white robe.
She catches his reflection in the foggy mirror. Screams.
“I’m not even close! Go back down to the bar!”
He sighs. Bar it is.
The Weekday One Hundred 