L’hotel.


Two men walked in turn through double doors, through quiet, and kicked to one another not a glance, not even sideways. Both brought with them an impregnated mind, full of death and disarming ideas of methods and tools and perfect timing. Upon reaching the inquiry desk, they waited in stillness, betrayed only by a heartbeat, at last, giving their names and receiving plastic keys in return. It was not until they’d reached the elevators and began the ascent to their respective ends would they part and be together no longer… Is the mind ever still, even in the tart resolve to quiet all that makes a man a man, even once letters are drawn up and filled with every last complaint and resolution, just before death begins.. was there ever such a thing as stillness?

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