Je regrette, Madame, mais je ne suis pas présentable...

It was dark inside the hallway, dust lined the surfaces, and the paint was crumbling in places with cobwebs forming a creepy decor on the ceiling. Images of death, adultery, promiscuity, blood, beguilement, and fear shot past me in a very rapid series of blurred visions. That was the kind of passage I was walking down to find that dimly lit, comfortable, safe room I bought for myself amidst unsafe strangers. Somebody was inside the room next to mine, out of which came noises. They were strange to me. Muffled, exhilarated, shrill, gruff, incomprehensible mumbling and it was sweetly chaotic. I wondered what happened inside. The door was locked, though I felt this deep, tickling urge to open wondering what kind of scene I would walk into. So I took a few steps, very slowly. I stopped once I reached the door. My hand was automatically outstretched to knock. The sound came of a soft bang, and I heard a soft thud from inside. The door creaked open, slowly… He was fat, the kind that makes you think of liposuction, with a thick bush of hair on the chest, the kind that makes you throw up, his lips were pouty and dripping wet. He smiled to reveal a surprisingly even set of teeth though disgustingly yellow. He said “je regrette, Madame, mais je ne suis pas présentable” and winked. 

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