He looks at Vincent, then back at the road, “Nah.” Kaoru pats the console of the car hard, answering Andrew, “Mr. Accord? Mr. Honda? Old ’s fuck, e’s like, my age, gehahah! This old man can drink!”
They arrive at their destination, a little ding from the phone indicating it. When the car stops, it’s outside a nice hotel, the glamor of it sparkling with exaggerated glitz. The driver ducks to look out the passenger window as it rolls down, grinning as he announces, “You stayin’ here? Funny that, me too! Gehah! ’s actually my bro’s auntie who recommended it, said the bar fucks hard. Catch ya there ’nd I’ll get ya some drinks, yeah?”
He tosses up a peace sign before rolling up the window to drive away to park his ancient sedan next to the luxury cars the other guests arrived in. It’s a little out of place.
Outside is just the gloomy atmosphere, both directions down the sidewalk completely dark. Uninviting. No reason to stay outside.
—
Stepping through the doors of the hotel is like stepping through a cloud, and you’re asleep as soon as you enter, lavishly comfortable. Dreams of floating cocktails, glittering bath bombs, fancy little meals that look like weird art pieces, and massages pass through your mind… It’s the best you’ve ever slept— until you wake up to a harsh crushing sound. Outside? You think it’s outside. It’s hard to wake up at first.
When you drag your eyes open, you’re standing in front of the car from earlier, battered and smelling of smoke. The windows are broken, the wheels are flat, crumpled photographs and torn up plushies tossed around the ground. Some of you, recalling from the last projection, pop open the glovebox: empty.
There’s nothing to salvage here. You think you see the driver hitting the hood of the car between pacing in a circle, shouting sounding far away and hard to understand. The memory of the scene fades to black and you open your eyes outside. Now outside, you’re all standing on a dimly lit sidewalk.
Sie notices they’re holding something: a torn up, dirty bunny plushie that must have been around the car. Its pathetic state makes it hard to look at. It reeks of sentimentality.
The darkness of the street is unnatural, and the shine of the hotel makes the shadows longer. Every alley you pass you hear heavy footsteps and the rattle of chains, murmured conversations that might include your name. You can’t stay here.
Looking down the road, you see where the road leads: a toll booth. You’ll have to get past to leave. Checking your pockets, you each only have two phones. One’s a flip phone that’s constantly blinking with an incoming call, currently silent. You can’t make yourself answer it. The other is a smart phone that you can hit buttons on that makes pinging noises. Pleasantly distracting.
The crowds on the sidewalks are full of silhouettes of strangers. Only a few will look straight at you, and when they do, there’s an expectant gleam to the way their eyes track you. Opportunities, something tells you…
