(Don't ask where this is going. It's just a fragment of something that will probably never be continued.)

The Hotel Room

Tom flared his nostrils and sucked in a deep breath. In the back of his mind he heard the creak of the faucet being twisted off as the last few drops fell from the sky after the brief storm. Thunder still throbbed in the distance, but already blue holes were poking through the dense clouds. The smell of damp earth and electrified air was strong on the porch. Tom felt water splashing his bare feet, caused by a methodical drip from the overhanging concrete ceiling to the depressed floor where a puddle was forming.

He grabbed the wet, metal fence with both hands and leaned over, peering into the swimming pool. Two brave guests were wiping down lounge chairs with a pair of fluffy, manila towels and preparing to continue the solar worship that had been interrupted by the expected storm. Their half drunk glasses of iced tea were still on the pool table from before the storm; the rainwater had overfilled the glasses and the liquid was now slightly yellowish. After the industrious guests wiped down the table, the books, lotion, magazines, water spritzers, and sunglasses were reset on the table. Tom could hear the low prayers from the earphones that both guests wore. The one wearing a bikini danced vaguely as she prepared her space.

Tom grinned. He leaned away from the railing, which had left horizontal damp spots on his t-shirt, clapping his hands together to dry them off before wiping them on his shorts. Before leaving the porch, he looked down one last time, measured the distance to the ground with his eyes, and decided broken tibia, perhaps tibia and wrist, but definitely survivable. He visualized the two guests running over to his sprawled body?it would be important to roll, he knew, and to jump far enough out to avoid the spiked fence but not too far or you?d end up near the tiles around the pool. It was a lot to think about before the jump. He saw the guests bending down, checking to see if he was alive. The one in the bikini probably would not get too close, which is a shame because he wouldn?t mind getting to know her better. He turned away as he heard the sirens in his head approaching to take him to the hospital.

The porch door led Tom into the living room, or, at the least, what passed for a living room at the resort. He stepped gingerly over a phone cord that ran, somewhat unsuccessfully, along the floor?s edge from the desk to the couch. It was an acceptable kludge except when the loose cord got caught on the closing porch door. Phones should be used either on the couch or in the bed, he knew. Desks were not an option. Tom carefully stepped on the cord and, with his foot, pulled it under the door as he closed the door. Had the resort invested in portable phones, none of this care would be necessary. Tom made a mental note to talk to the concierge. He knew, as usual, the note would be forgotten almost immediately after he finished drafting it. Remembering to do things that required doing things just was not a strong point with Tom.

The hallway had carroty red carpets, forming strangely undulating geometric patterns that forced Tom to the center of the passageway. He followed the exit signs to the elevator.