I walk up to the dark wood-stained door of my hotel room and place the key in the worn brass lock; you can hear the pins drop inside the lock as I turn it clockwise.
I push open the door and the hinges creak with a sigh of relief.
The sight of mustard-coloured walls and old wooden furniture greet me as I step on the brown corduroy carpet that could do with a vacuum.
I can hear the light bulb straining trying to stay on; flickering from very-dull to dull.
The reflection of the ‘Le Hotel’ neon sign outside reflects in my wardrobe’s full-length mirror.
On closing the door behind me I place my suitcase on the floral bedspread. I walk up to the window and take a look outside; I see a French baguette walking along eating a man, and a dog riding a bike with a string of onions following behind.
I spot a reflection in the window pane and quickly turn to see a scantilly-dressed maid with a glass of milk; she slowly hands it over and I take a sip.
“The milk is warm,” I say whilst licking the remaining drips from my upper lip.
The maid adjusts her left breast with her wrist in a upward-heaving movement.
“My pleasure!” she says, turning on her heels as she quickly makes her way out of the room as quietly as she entered.
I place the milk down – I don’t quite fancy it now – nor do I want the cheese and crackers she left behind.
I walk into the bathroom and look into the oval mirror and I see a reflection that is not me.
To be continued…