My Room the Police and Hot Pot

The hallway on the second floor is dimly lit with two small lights at either end of it. My room sat underneath the stairwell. The passkey lock was always hard to see. I never saw anyone on my floor when I would walk up to my room. Yet, once in my room I could hear voices, people laughing and arguing all around me. Doors would open and shut. I could hear the rush of footsteps in the hallway. But once I stepped out of my room, the hallway was silent. It felt empty. The hotel kept it's rooms coldish, just above what would be thought of as uncomfortable. I wore a fleece pullover all the time. The hallway though was cold. My room was plush in a midgets perspective. Hallway lights were used to light my room with. I thought I was in a twilight episode. The smoking room was big enough to hold a card table and three chairs. Cigarette burns covered cheap carpet the floor. A very dim light overhead lit the room. It felt made for espionage. A lounge chair hid in the other corner of the room. My bedroom was the size of my bed. A semi comfortable twin with a small TV at the end of it and a night stand next to it. My room overlooked the back entrance to a restaurant. Every morning I would stare out the window at the frozen world outside and watch the meat man pull up in his three wheeled motorcycle cart, the back end piled high with animal parts and a scale. The meat steamed in the morning air waiting to be sold. The meat man ran from the restaurant to the cart pulling body parts from the back end weighing and rushing them in. My shower had hot water when it felt like having it. Sometimes, in the early morning I could coax a few minutes of warm water out of it. That first day I felt rode hard and beaten. The room even with all it's quirks and misgivings felt very cosy and warm. I laid down and just as my head hit the pillow, the phone rang.