Episode Four: Quin and His Irrational Love of Sandwiches

Quin walked over and leaned against his favorite pay phone, the one that had graffiti written on it reading: Beware the Leopard. From his leaning perch, he could see that the key to room 1717 was in its pigeonhole behind the clerk’s head. The Bristol was quite an old hotel, (You could tell by the avocado carpeting. I think it had been outlawed by the Geneva convention in the ’70s.) the kind that isn’t around anymore. Most modern hotels were security conscious and had long ago abolished keeping the room keys in plain sight. The practice made it too easy for potential thieves to see whether a person was in their room or not, or had just checked out.

The old practice may have made it easier for thieves, but it also made it easier for freewheeling youths named Quin. There aren’t many more of those left around either.

Quin fished in his pocket for change and deposited it in the pay phone. It rang for a moment until the person on the other end of the line answered.

Hello, Bristol Hotel Kitchen speaking, how may I help you?”

Hello, Bristol Hotel Kitchen, my name is Quin. I would like to order a room service roast beef sandwich and have it delivered to room 1717.”

Certainly, sir. That won’t be any trouble at all. Shall I charge that to your room number?” the voice on the other end asked.

If you’d like.” Quin said, and hung up the phone. He supposed that someday he would have to cure himself of his habit of not paying for things. Someday, but not today. Maybe after he ate the sandwich.

Quin took the elevator to the 17th floor and sat on the ground until the room service boy came with the food.

Hello there, are you the man who ordered room service?” the room service boy asked. He looked a bit like a cartoon character who had stepped out of the seventies along with the avocado carpeting. He wore a red jacket with gold trim and had thick black hair on top of his head and a drooping mustache on his lip. In the seventies, he would have been cool. Now, he just looked hairy.

Yes, hello, I am.” Quin said, taking the sandwich off the fellow’s platter. “Could you open this door for me?”

What are you doing outside of the room?” the man asked.

That’s a good question.” Quin said. “Good questions deserve good answers.”

The room service man stared at him.

. . . And?” he said.

And what?” Quin asked.

Aren’t you going to give a good answer to my good question?”

No.” Quin said. “Does that answer your question?”

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