ROOM SERVICE

By Ben Greenman / @2019

From forthcoming collection of stories, as yet untitled

The afternoon, to happen at all, depended on the morning, and the morning on the night. The scraping sound coming through the barely-open front window suggested that night might be in jeopardy. He tried to prepare himself. He had seen a movie about a man who was denied night, and in turn denied morning and afternoon. In the movie, the man checked into a hotel, ordered room service, accepted the tray from the man who brought it, and made a mad dash for the balcony, taking tiny bites of his sandwich as he tumbled over the railing and plunged downward through space. The man in the movie hit the ground as hard as anything ever had. The tray clattered on the ground beside him. The room in the movie was on the nineteenth floor, which ensured a consequential fall. The man checked into the tallest hotel in town. It only went up to six, but it would have to do. He ordered room service. The man who brought it was not a man. The woman who brought it looked at him in such a way that his whole plan went out the window. He ate the food, which was superb, but still turned bitter on his tongue. He was a coward. He was a patsy. He was a fool. Night was coming, or not coming, and it would be followed or not followed by morning and afternoon. A faint scraping sound was out on the balcony. He heard it as he went to bed and tried to dream of the woman who had brought him his food.