And don’t read this if you’re easily offended because I’m sure to piss some people off here. I hate introducing myself with the much-maligned moniker that’s above but there’s no way around it. I suck. I lie and basically cheat people out of their welfare checks but on Sundays I go to church with my grandmother. I pray to God and ask for his forgiveness and promise not to sell my slum hotel to well-heeled developers but then come Monday morning, the phone is ringing off the hook and I do say no to them but I continue cheating and lying and doing terrible things.
   I don’t bathe for days on end and I sit in front of a fan and let my stink waft out to all the decrepit old timers in the lobby.
   This blog has been a two-month run of lies embedded within lies, like a diamond-studded middle finger being flipped to the world. I lie everyday but today I’d like to tell the truth: I’m a jerk and the suffering of others is something I sometimes rejoice in. I like looking at Christ up there on the cross in perpetual agony. It kind of makes me laugh to see my grandmother lustfully looking up at his half-naked body. I know it’s sick and I’m filled with self-loathing after my mind wanders off into terrible tangents regarding Christ in a clown suit and my grandmother… Oh but I can’t get into that here. That’s not a story fit for anything.
   Anyway, here’s a short-short story about a guy in one of my hotels who’s always happy.

Ecstatic Man in a Sad Man Hotel

  Henry wakes up to the sound of his neighbor’s vomiting. Henry stretches his neck to look at his clock but the battery’s been dead for the past couple of weeks. The clock says one-thirty. Henry remembers that he must get out to buy batteries.
   “It’s not all fun and games in the Sad Man hotel,” he chuckles to himself.
    As if in retort the sound of his neighbor’s vomiting reaches a wretched crescendo.  Henry pounds on the thin wall with his little ball-peen fist, adding to the cracks in the spider-webbed paint. “Good morning Anton.”
    More retching.
    “Heroin. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea,” Henry chuckles to himself, “but we all need hobbies.”  Henry gets out of his cot, slips on his slippers and grabs his toothbrush. He shuffles out into the narrow hallway that reeks of cigarette smoke which dilutes other more fetid smells. “Happy morning everyone !!” he shouts.
   Some muffled yells respond behind bolted doors and a mouse darts across the edge of the hall. “Happy morning mouse,” he laughs in staccato. With each burst of laughter his soul edges closer and closer to the pit of nothingness. A vacant smile in front of an evicted soul. 
   Henry smiles to reveal a couple missing teeth which were shattered long ago like the windows of a condemned building.
   Henry spits at the mouse as he walks towards the shared bathroom. 
   “Ecstatic man living in a sad man hotel,” he sings to himself.