Hotel
Seth's POV
I hate this place. I hate the smell, the food, the people. They wouldn't know a good meal when they saw one. I quickly put away the washed up towel and drag my feet across the carpet towards another doorway. I knock on it, and get the usual silence you'd expect out of the day hours. Everyone's knocked out on their beds from the booze and drugs, while I'm up in the hours of the morning taking care of it all. I sigh and wheel the broken cart down the hall, wanting to push it down a flight of stairs or leave it hanging in an empty elevator. It takes a bit of focus to keep that from happening, as I'm finally away from all the rooms and by myself. The way I like it.
Quickly gathering my sore feet to a halt, my words are silent to a group of pretty, blonde haired, blue and green-eyed girls in short, tight dresses. Their eyes dodge towards my direction when the stupid cart's wheels keep squealing like a dead pig. I don't make eye contact when I pass them, one of them shifting their places against the wall, trying to get my attention in a matter I can't refuse. I look at this girl, looks no more than nineteen, blonde hair, blue eyes, wicked smile. God bless her. She doesn't stand a chance. Those small arms are twice as small as those muscles on her friends. I scratch my beard and wink at her. Stupid. You should have just talked to her.
The cart squeals again as I take another route down the hall, not once do I dare look back. Sure, they're nice looking girls, but I can't talk to them. Not in this state. My mind shuts out a lot of talk, making me the least bit satisfied with a life of cleaning and scrubbing. I smile gently as I pass a good, well-behaved boy, not older than seven, his energy a great quality. It makes me proud when these young minds today look up to people for guidance and love. What I show this boy is a hard worker who doesn't get any appreciation at all. Hope he doesn't end up like me. He's too good and too rich to become worried about that, anyway.
Crossing the border to another flight of stairs and a lonely elevator, my feet give out and I stop in the middle of the hall, the emptiness just a mere token for the rough nights. You can't sleep with all that music and all those crazy, drunk, high hooligans. You'd be better off in a zoo.
"Hey!"
That voice gives me chills. I know who he is, but I don't care to look at him. I lower my head in a sort of respect I give to everyone. What do they show me? It's a mystery to how I'm even still in this dump. I smell the putrid smoke and cough with my mouth managing to part after tightening them for hours.
"I don't pay you to stand around," He screams. "Get back to work!"
He says that now, but I don't listen. I'd rather pick up a dead bird than take orders from him.
