🔴 Red Lamp Inn

We’ll leave the light on for you.

🔴 Red Lamp Inn

Off the highway. Past the gas station. Before the silence starts.

Rooms by the hour, if you pay in advance.

We’ll leave the light on for you.

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📍 FRONT DESK – DAY ONE

CLERK

I honestly hate my job.

Not the hours. Not the people. Not even the weird stains.

I hate what it turns you into.

You stop asking questions.

You stop looking people in the eye.

You just hand them a key and pretend you didn’t notice what room they asked for.

Room 15 is popular.

The owner knows why. Pretends not to.

We rent by the hour, if you pay in advance.

There’s a rhythm to it.

The girls know what time the regulars roll through.

They rotate rooms. Try not to talk too loud.

Some of them I know by name. Most of them by noise.

The pimps don’t come in anymore. Not often.

Not since the cameras went up.

Cheap things. Half don’t even work.

A few complaints got filed. Noise. A hallway scream.

Management put up signs.

“Monitored 24/7.”

The pimps adjusted.

Park across the street. Text the room number. Wait.

Doesn’t change anything.

Same control. Same result.

The money’s okay.

I crash here some nights—cheapest room, back left corner.

Better than going home to my roommate’s dishes and his new girlfriend who never leaves.

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📍 APT 2B – DINNER LOG – DAY ONE

RENTER

I’m getting the TV replaced when I get my direct deposit Friday.

I already have it picked out. Considered credit,

but the numbers now would interfere too much with home purchase—973 days away.

Dinner tonight is chicken, eight string beans, a roll, and sixteen macaroni noodles.

I eat clockwise. Chicken first, then beans, then pasta, then bread.

Every time.

I read once that consistency reduces emotional stress.

TV doesn’t turn on.

It broke Sunday.

I still go through the motion—remote, click, pause, click again.

Nothing.

It’s on my schedule though.

Tonight I heard something. Laughter.

Outside the window. Left side.

Felt like something cracked inside me.

That’s new.

I glanced. Just once.

She was smiling.

Big. Performative. Meant for someone else.

Hair curled and shining, like it had been done for effect.

Legs too long for the sidewalk.

Lips glossy.

I looked away.

Felt like something cracked inside me.

That’s new.

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📍 WINDOW – ROOM 9 – NIGHT

DAMSEL

They all love a damsel in distress.

It makes them feel like a superhero.

I play them like I’m sooo lonely.

Like I need a big strong man to come back to my room and help me cum.

Oh… Superman.

They eat it up.

I dress the part — a sexy Lois Lane.

I squeeze their arms, widen my eyes, lean forward just enough.

They tip better when they think it’s for them.

I don’t lie — not exactly.

I just give them the version of me they already imagined.

The one who whispers instead of screams.

The one who smiles before moaning.

Most of them don’t make it ten minutes.

But they leave happy.

And I get to pay rent.

That’s the deal.

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To be continued…