Guy comes in.
Large and a bit disheveled, but still well kept. Dark blazer, khakis. Tan lines from expensive rings.
The scent of women's perfume and alcohol.
Reaches over the desk and grabs a pen. Asks for a room and starts to smooth out a single wrinkled check.
We do have rooms, but don't take checks.
He's not disappointed, he'll just move on with The Plan.
His glassy eyes tell the story.
One too many crashes, defaults, layoffs, and downsizes. He wasn't going to be broken, we would break himself.
Pawn the rings, walk away from the house, empty the account.
He was going out in style, and one hotel not accepting his last check wasn't going to get in the way of that.
This was his year.
As he stumbled into his damaged rental car and sped off, I envied him.