5:59pm

5:59 p.m.

The tiny bell mounted above the door announced the guest’s arrival.

The guest stood dripping in the doorway, and looked around the room.

The man behind the counter smiled. "Good evening, sir."

The guest only stood. And looked.

The man behind the counter spoke again. "May I be of some service, sir?”

“I’m not ready.”

The man behind the counter studied the guest. After a pause, he spoke. “Of course, sir. Please do come in.”

The guest entered, and closed the door behind him.

“Very well, sir. Your key?”

“I’m not ready.”

The man behind the counter smiled again. “Of course, sir.”

The guest looked around the room, and spoke. “My son.”

“Of course, sir.”

“What about my son?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

The guest looked at the floor. Tears were coming now. “My son.”

The man behind the counter stood watching the guest for a moment. “He is a fine boy, sir.”

The inbound sobbing began to take the guest, and he reached into his pocket. His hand shook as he pulled the hand and the key from that pocket, and he closed a fist around the key. “But my son.”

The man behind the counter’s smile faded as he looked at the man’s fist. “He has the slow boy.”

“I’m not ready.”

“Yet here you stand.”

The guest looked up, tears mixing with the rain still dripping from his hair. He looked at his fist, and opened it. The tag on the key was crushed, and its ink was smeared.

“Your key.”

The guest stepped forward and set the key on the counter. “I will never be ready.”

“Of course.” The man behind the counter took the key, and turned to the boxes behind him. He returned and handed the guest an envelope. On it was the number 22.

The guest took the envelope, and the sobbing arrived.

The man behind the counter smiled once again, and placed a hand on the guest’s shoulder. “Welcome to The Starlight, sir.”