Dear you,

Ruffling through my pockets, the key’s missing again. For the third time in two days. The maid who comes at eleven every morning gives me the worst look, and then she pushes past me, even though I’m not in the way. All of my spare clothes are soaked in blood, and there’s no laundry room here, so I have them bundled up in a sheet from the bed to take to the cleaners. The maid looks at me like I’m stealing the sheet, and when I tell her I just need the sheet to help wrap the clothes up to bring to a laundromat off the highway in the other direction, she calls the reception desk, speaking over me, staring me down while she’s doing it. I shrug, remove the used bag from a small trash receptacle by the desk in the room and put my bloody clothes in that instead, and I drop the bedsheet, saying once again that I’m not stealing the goddamned bed linens. The maid turns her back to me, and she starts cleaning the sink, which is already clean. At the front desk in the lobby I say to please hold my room, and that the maid thinks I am stealing but that I’m not, and I pay for another day. Before I leave I also pay for another key so I can get back into my room, since I can’t get any free ones anymore. It costs $25 to replace a magnetized key pass.

Come save me,
Me.