Mr. Khoury awoke to the sound of his phone alarm at six A.M. sharp, as he had done for near on forty years. After tapping his phone’s screen to check the time (which was always the same, but he checked it every day anyways), he proceeded to the same lonely routine he’d been following for a few years, since his dear Rachel passed away. A yawn, a stretch, an eye rub, a belly scratch, and then on to the early-morning meds, faithfully on his right-hand nightstand, along with a small bottle of water. As he sat up and slapped the light switch… the lights failed to turn on.

“Huh?” he muttered, still groggy, and patted the wall where the switch was supposed to be. Not only it wasn’t there, but the wallpaper felt entirely unfamiliar, and it was also at that point that he noticed the strange headboard behind him.

“Where am I?” The morning light softly filtered by the curtains (wait… wasn’t it winter?, he thought) showed an environment that was at once foreign and entirely familiar from his past days as a sales representative. A hotel room, he realized. Where am I again? I don’t remember this trip. More