I arrived in Manehattan on a rainy afternoon in October. Some four or five years ago that must have been, but I couldn't say for sure. Maybe it was six or seven. I'm terrible with numbers, you know. Recalling facts and such has never really been among my strengths. I'm more the poetic sort of pony. Somepony with a refined taste for the finer arts. At least that's what I could have been. I never really invested much time in appreciating art. But if I ever had, I'm sure I'd have enjoyed it very much.

When my train pulled into Manehattan Central that day, rain had been pouring down in streams for some hours already. The weather was bad all day this time of year, but apparently the local pegasi decided to give it a little extra squeeze just when I got off. Or so I thought. The rain seemed to be a little less strong when watching it from inside the cabin.

Only when I exited the train did I notice how there wasn't any roof anywhere on this platform. And the terminal building was all the way across the station grounds, a good two-hundred feet off. Several tracks still ran between the next dry spot and myself.

I winced; even galloping straight across would take me a good twenty seconds or so. While it didn't sound like much, it would still last long enough to get myself soaking wet. I couldn't really afford that. Of course, it wouldn't matter all that much if it were for my coat only, even though drying myself off afterwards always turned out to be a pain.

I was more concerned about the two saddlebags strapped around my back. Much like the rest of my scarce belongings, they weren't in a very good shape. Only two weeks ago, during a brief stay in Whinnyapolis, I somehow managed to tear open the bottom of one of them. I still can't figure out how that happened. The bag must have briefly gotten stuck somewhere when I didn't notice or didn't keep an eye out. These things tend to happen.

After giving it some thought, I had decided to reinforce the bottom of both bags with a solid bit of cardboard. While far from fancy, it more or less preventing stuff from falling out. Of course, it also meant I couldn't let my saddlebags get wet unless I wanted them to fall apart completely. All things considered, the cardboard solution probably wasn't a very good idea after all. I should already have noticed how bad an approach it was back in Whinnysota, right after the first rainfall. And there's rainy days up there pretty much all the time.

Now, I didn't have a choice. And I didn't have any time to lose either, so I wished it all to Tartarus, and dashed forward as quickly as my hooves would carry me. I leaped clear across the remaining tracks, cold rain aggressively gashing into my eyes and snoot, yet I still arrived below the station's balcony in less than half a minute. Luckily, there weren't any other trains arriving or departing at the time which could have made me pause. It was for the better anyway because I pretty much forgot to look out for them, I think. Maybe I just didn't care.

I almost crashed through the door of the terminal building, given the sheer speed I still had upon reaching it, then tumbled into the crowded foyer that lay beyond. Most of the ponies I could make out in here were exceptionally well dressed, with the middle and lower classes only represented as a minority. My fears of Manehattan being way overdressed for a mare like me were easily dismissed, however, at the sight of a bum sleeping on a nearby bench, wrapped in blankets and old newspapers.

As far as first impressions went, this didn't tell me a lot about the city I just arrived in. It might have been a high-end place, but it didn't have to. Bottom shelf representatives were very much present here, but then again, where weren't they? I shook my entire rump and head back and forth in order to dry off to at least some degree. Rain water mixed in with the dirt I gathered up over the past days sprinkled the surrounding walls, floors, and bystanders as I did. Some of the nearby ponies looked at me with disgust, while some others just brushed it off with a sneer. I really couldn't care less, either way. The worst thing to possibly happen would be somepony trying to sue me for money. Because I had no idea where that would be supposed to come from.

Of course they had every right to react the way they did. I hadn't gotten a shower or bath in over a week or so.

I suppose I drew some of my immediate priorities from that thought. A bath sure would be nice, especially regarding this kind of muddy weather. And a room with a bed to sleep in would go well with that, I thought. I'd been forced to sleep out on the street or some park bench on several occasions during my life. Although both may present an acceptable alternative to appropriate housing at times, I really do prefer some dry place with a heater. Especially during seasons like this one.

After salvaging a still-fresh copy of the day's Manehattan Times from a nearby trash bin while no-one was looking, I turned to head out onto the street through the main entrance. Sure, I hated the thought of going back out into the rain. But that was just another necessary evil, right now. Unless I wanted to wait in the terminal building for the rest of the day, or whenever else the rain was supposed to stop. And I didn't want that. I was worn-out and tired from the journey, and from not seeing a proper bed in about three days. I felt cold, hungry, and perfectly annoyed by all those mindless ponies rushing on and about around me. Plus, I really wanted a bath.

Trotting up to the main exit, I spotted a row of small billboards on the wall right beside it. One of them described the way to a cheap hotel of some sort, somewhere nearby. It didn't say cheap, but they'd misspelled hotel, which just about gives away the category. Or maybe, a pony like me just notices when she's spoken to after a while. In any case, I knew what I was dealing with.

Now, when I call out on a hotel being cheap, I really mean it. There's all sorts of products, deals, or services around the world I could describe with that word. As in, low budget, but they still work. And then there's things like these kinds of hotels, which are cheap. They're the really lousy kind. A rusty bunk somewhere in the back of an office complex, combined with some cold breakfast and a cup of coffee that tastes like somepony else already drank and digested it. Throw in some trashy tourists from overseas who just want 'a good time,' and you got yourself a standard package.

Of course, a place like that also never charged any more than five bits a week, and that at least was something I could afford. Scattered across my saddlebags at the time were twelve or thirteen of those coins, so that would work. I checked the ad again. The address was located somewhere on East 39th. I had no idea where that was, but it couldn't be very far off. Whenever a place like this gets advertised at the railway station, it's usually within two or three blocks' range.

I stepped out into the open soon after. To my distaste, it was still pouring outside, maybe even heavier than before. I could tell I might need something else to reinforce my bags with after today's walk. Maybe just some more, thicker cardboard would do the trick. It's not like pieces of that stuff aren't easily interchangeable, or something.

A row of cabs stood lined up out front on the sidewalk, their drivers waiting for any potential passenger with anxious expressions. I can only guess how hard those inviting smiles of theirs must have been to keep up. Most of these stallions' coats were already dripping wet; they must have stood and waited out here for hours. One of them even asked me if I needed a ride, but I've never been one for luxuries like that. I certainly enjoy the thought at times but then my wallet comes along to tell me otherwise. I needed to cover this distance by myself, potential damage to my luggage be damned. The station was at 42nd East, so I figured it shouldn't be that long a walk. In the end, it took me a good twenty minutes to get there.

The place was a lot like I envisioned it. Of course, most of my expectations came from experience on the subject, and shouldn't be too big a surprise. A few helpfully positioned signs lead the way around a massive concrete building with rows of stained window panes, up to a rusty steel door facing the backyard. It wasn't locked, so it had to be the right one. I sort of expected some kind of lobby or foyer to greet me, once inside. Instead I only faced an old staircase, illuminated by dozens of old neon lights, paint breaking off the walls in places. Another helpful sign informed me that the hotel was in fact situated on the eighth floor.

Grimacing, I once again shook the rainwater out of my drenched coat, then proceeded up the first steps. My saddlebags were now ruined for sure, and I'd be damned if I wouldn't catch a cold by tomorrow morning. It was by sheer luck that I hadn't lost anything out on the road. Maybe I just hadn't noticed.

By the time I managed to march up all eight floors, I was panting heavily. The dampness in my coat had drained all the energy from my limbs. There had been an elevator at the entrance, but it didn't work. I hadn't actually tried it, but doing so would be a waste of time in any case. Elevators never worked in these kinds of places.

I could only hope that the hotel itself would still be in business. I hadn't met anyone else while trotting upstairs, which left me with a slightly discouraging feeling in my chest. Of course, the landings between floors also looked nice and cozy to some degree. Hopefully, I thought, I wouldn't actually have to make use of them to spend the night. While sleeping on the stairs seemed a lot more pleasant than heading back out into the pouring rain, it really wasn't what I'd come here for in the first place.

I got lucky. Another steel door would meet me upstairs, unlocked much like its equivalent below. The room beyond it was anything but classy, still I wasn't one to complain about it.

It was kind of a long, empty hallway, about thirty feet in length and a good ten to twelve feet wide. On the far end, it seemed, the room took a turn to the left. A bent wooden door led on ahead from there. There was a counter to my right, likely the reception. A tan coated mare with a bored expression sat at a desk on the other side. Engrossed in some sort of crossword puzzle, she took a few seconds to notice me standing there. In fact, she likely wouldn't have noticed me at all, hadn't it been for the sound of the door slamming close behind me.

"Need a room?" she asked, peering up towards me. Her eyes reflected all emotions but enthusiasm.

I tried to force a smile. "I'd like that five bits a week treatment, please."

Saying so, I already reached for my bags, then placed the coins onto the counter between us. The mare nodded. She took my money without anything further to add, then reached for something below for a second. Eventually, she returned to my sight with a small, rusty key between her teeth. It had a plaque attached, bearing the number 213 on one side. Somepony had scribbled it on there with a black marker, a while back. She dropped it onto the same spot where my bits had been a second ago.

"Comes with a bathroom," she explained. "Try not to use too much water while you're at it. Your room is on the upper floor; there's a staircase leading up to it down the corridor, just around the corner. Upstairs, yours is the third door to the left. Dining room's up ahead from here, breakfast each morning from seven to ten. Any questions?"

I shook my head in response. "Nah, I'm good." The mare went back to her puzzle.

Somehow, she didn't even want to know my name. Which was just as well, since I've never been particularly proud of it. I guess anyone born into a family called Punch would try to be subtle about it. I wasn't so sure about my parents, but neither had I been around them for a good three or four years at this point.

Following the mare's instructions, I wouldn't take long to find the room I was looking for. The concerning door had the number 213 in brass letters attached to it, except for the 2, which was missing. The outline could still be seen though, and every room on this floor started with the same number, so it was easy to make out.

My room was decorated scarcely, but it contained all I needed. It even had a window facing outside. There was an old bed with a frame made of steel pipes, and a desk situated right below said window. A wooden stool was placed in front of it. There was a simple light bulb hanging from the ceiling, held up by nothing but the wires that also powered it. I activated a nearby switch, and lo and behold, the lights actually worked! There was another door to my left.

I quickly closed the entrance door, then dropped my ragged saddlebags, and rushed to take a look at my bathroom. Luckily, there even was a bathtub in here. I would have thanked Celestia for the occasion, hadn't I given up on that sort of admiration a long time ago. I still didn't hesitate to turn on the hot water, and have the entire basin fill up to the top. The only other thing on my mind right now were my saddlebags, but I decided to have their condition drag me down at some other time.

As the tub was only halfway full, I gently placed one hoof after another into the steaming hot water. Ignoring the heat, I slowly but steadily submerged myself into the almost boiling liquid. I didn't really care about the temperature. It was nothing compared to the wonderful sensation of a whole week's worth of sweat and dirt lifting themselves off of my coat all at once.

I sighed in relief as the warmth slowly engulfed me on all sides. Maybe nice things still existed in this world, after all.