🔴 Red Lamp Inn: Cycle Three

Red genie lamps in every room. The rest is up to you.

🔴 Red Lamp Inn: Cycle Three

Red genie lamps in every room. The rest is up to you.

---

📍 FRONT DESK– DAY 14

CAM

I still hate my job.
Not enough to quit.
Just enough to dream about it while I’m here.

Tonight started like something might actually change.
Cop car pulled in—lights off, engine still running.
Big guy stepped out, badge clipped to his belt, hand on his hip like he was ready to shut the place down.

Then he winked at the manager.
Said, “Room 3 unlocked like I asked?”
Went up the stairs with a girl who didn’t even look surprised.
Came down twenty minutes later.
Didn’t say a word.

A few hours pass. Nothing much.
TV’s on low. Ice machine jammed again.

Then the black SUV rolls in.
Real quiet engine. Tinted windows. Something official on the plates.
Three girls step out.

That’s when the yelling starts.
One of them’s already shouting—“That was my job, bitch!”
She walks up and grabs a blonde girl with a long pink bag by the hair.

The fight broke fast.
Screaming. Swinging. A shoe flew across the parking lot.

The driver and another guy in a suit just laughed.
They broke it up, but not like they were upset—more like it was part of the fun.

Manager never came out.
I didn’t either.
Just lowered the TV again and waited for it to pass.

Then I saw him.
Same guy. Same time.
Walked past the mess like it wasn’t even there.
Stepped around the fight like he was dodging puddles.

On his way out, he stopped at the edge of the building.
Straightened the corner of the NO SMOKING sign that always tilts down.
Didn’t look around. Didn’t linger.
Just kept walking.
Keys out. Head low. Didn’t look back.

The girls call him Sign Guy now.
Some think he’s harmless.
Some think he’s sweet.
But when Cleo’s out front, he slows down.
And I swear—for half a second—he holds his breath.

I don’t know what’s going on with that one.
But I don’t like it.

---

📍 WINDOW – NIGHT 14

CLEO

They all love a damsel in distress. The newer the better.

That’s why the cop always asks for the new girl. He wants someone who still looks scared when he touches their leg.

I watch from the second floor. I don’t close the blinds. It’s not defiance. It’s... something else. Like if the window’s open, I’m not fully part of this place. Just visiting.

Earlier, two girls fought outside. One of them took an "invite" that wasn't hers. Just stepped forward at pick up like she belonged there.

I knew what it was about. You don’t have to ask when someone swings like that.

They fought. Right there in front of the vending machine. A shoe flew. Someone grabbed hair. Two men laughed while pulling them apart.

I used to fight for spots like that. Used to think the right client might change something. Until Tulsa.

Girl pulled a blade on me over a weekend booking. Missed my cheek by an inch. Manager banned her, but not before she got what she came for.

I bled in Room 5 that night. Still had to finish the job.

I don’t fight anymore. Not for clients. Not for chances.

You stop thinking there’s a ladder. Stop thinking there’s an exit.

Sign Guy, Diamond called him that first, walked by during the fight. Tucked shirt, quiet shoes. Didn’t look up. Didn’t look over. Just fixed the NO SMOKING sign like he couldn’t help it.

So I moved it. Just a nudge. Off-center.

Next night, he fixed it again. Didn’t look around. Didn’t look at me.

But I know he knew.

I'm not sure why I did it.

It made me think about leaving again. Just for a second.

All that’s left is the window.

I don’t keep things in a dresser somewhere. Just a duffel. Always half-packed. I move easy. Leave quiet. Stay half-in, half-out.

Cleopatra’s not even my name. But I say it like it is. Because here, truth’s just another shade of the performance.

---

📍 APT 2B – NIGHT 15

SIGN GUY

The TV’s still broken. I will replace it with Friday’s check.

Open the calendar to add it to the schedule—

10 Days ago- 32 Inch, 1080p, Smart Tv. $199. Travel time 30 mins.

But it.. wasn't purchased. I don't—

I wrote it again for this Friday.

Dinner tonight: harissa meatballs, couscous, zucchini ribbons. Spiced, but not overwhelming. Cooling element included. I plate vertically: meatballs stacked, couscous in a crescent arc, zucchini spiral-folded for visual balance.

I sit at 4:28. Fork left, knife right. Look straight ahead at the TV still dead.

At 4:43 I hear her. I don’t wait this time. No hesitation.

She’s in the same jacket. Different guy. Not as tall as the last one. No hat this time. Shirt tucked in too tightly, like he’s trying to hide something soft.

She’s laughing again. Just a little. Not full volume. She touches his wrist—brief, but clear.

They disappear around the corner.

I finish dinner in silence. The couscous has gone a little dry. Put the plate in the sink. No sound but the water running.

I added a post-dinner walk a few days ago.

Fresh air should regulate stress.

I go for the walk. Fresh air. Around the block, past the fence, back toward the lot. Timed, not measured. The motel’s near the end—just before home.

The NO SMOKING sign was crooked again. Lower than it usually tilts.

I fixed it. Didn’t stop. Didn’t look. Just reached out, adjusted it, kept walking.

She was at the window. Not looking at me. Not looking away either.

One of the girls shouted up—"CLEO!"—followed by something vulgar and sharp. She didn’t flinch.

Cleo... A name I hadn’t heard before.

I cut across the lot instead of finishing the block. Not the path I wrote down. Not the one I measured. But I told myself it still counted.

Heart rate elevated. Not by much. Eighty-two beats per minute.

Probably just the couscous. I will remove it from the list of acceptable sides.

Control is still control, even when it’s flimsy.