...and he hoped that he made the right decision and he knew that he did because everything began to vitalize. Each room in the hotel contained a world starkly different from the world to which he was accustomed. Each person in the space insisted that he stay. They were desperate with desire and this left him intoxicated. They each shared a willing, curiosity. They were intrigued. They wanted to know the truths of the others. They were willing to receive the answers.
He leaned over slowly, peering into the pages of the worn leather notebook, enthralled by assumption, he could feel the passion of the writer of it's contents. Illegible prints, highlights, scratches and random doodles flooded the pages like the rise of the Mississippi river some years before. Intrinsic desire to get to know him lit the fires of vulnerability, melting the shackles that bound him to the rules of the oppressed. It was as if the suppression of his true nature had come to an abrupt turning point and he was ready to release. He adjusted his body to accommodate his viewpoint.
Meanwhile, the inexplicable warmth that was shared between the two was undeniable for surely the journalist knew that he was being observed. He welcomed this moment as it had been a week since they met. It had been a week since the conversation. It had been a week since he made the decision. His infatuation sent goosebumps down his arms, beads of sweat up to his axilla out from his forehead, a shade of blue to the contents in his briefs, a tingle to his toes. A mix of intense guilt and newly unbridled thoughts of intense pleasure began to color his black and white world. It was as if he was being taken over, as if each cell in his body had voted to impeach its leader. It was as if the gravitational pull of the cosmos had imposed upon the moment, bringing forth visions of their lips touching, his manicured fingers opening his button down, his erect nipples being tasted ever so gently by his tongue. He wanted him to slide closer, to spread his legs so that their thighs would touch or perhaps to lean into his universe so that he could feel the warmth of his breath.
As he sniffed the air he could smell a mix of sweet-spicy cologne and a freshly eaten lunch, he considered these signs of aliveness. His highly polished loafers spoke of a man who cared about the details, a man who was just like him. A man, perhaps the one from the dream...