𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫: 𝐀𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐀𝐧 𝐄𝐲𝐞

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝟏𝟎𝟏

It didn't take Toby long to realize that being on the run from the law isn't like how they portray it in movies. Especially when you're hot-footing it from place to place. There's nothing aesthetically pleasing about being basically homeless, hungry and scared but Toby counts his blessings. In the pocket of his light wash jeans is $55 cash: two twenty dollar bills, a ten dollar bill and a whole shit load of change to make up the last five dollars. The cash weighs about as much as a feather but those coins are causing lumps to form in his back pocket, sagging his pants ever so slightly. That nuisance will be gone soon, he figures, as he approaches "Belcaro Motel", some cheap flop house in his hometown of Denver, Colorado where he can crash for the night.

If it wasn't so bitter outside, Toby would test his luck and sleep on a bench, but the night before last he did that and froze his tits off. His fingertips looked a little purple when he woke up. Besides, his dignity can't take another hit like that as he remembers how he was basically snuggling with another homeless man on the bench. That tub of lard sat himself down maybe 3 hours after Toby had fallen asleep, shoving the boy's legs up towards his chest and finding space on the edge of the bench for himself. The urge to kick the old bastard in the jaw was nearly unbearable along with the beaming rays of the street lamp leering over the two. Not the mention the man stunk of piss.

Toby adjusts the backpack on his left shoulder, which is basically holding all of his belongings when he travels around, and creaks open the door of the front office. He looks around to see a heavyset man sat behind a desk who looks up at him with tired, grey eyes. Apparently, your eyes loose colour as you age. But this man was surely no older than 40. The life is leaving his eyes too early, but shit, working in a dump like this will do that to you.

"I'd like a room." Toby says softly, skipping courtesy and politeness, which he begins to regret once the man replies.

"With one bed, for tonight? That'll be $90, kid." He says, not looking away from his computer as his chubby fingers worm around the keyboard. Toby rolls his eyes before jamming his hand into his pocket to pull out the crinkled bills.

"Listen, you know nothing in this dump is worth $90 so don't give me that whore-shit. I'm not paying $90 just to sleep on a rickety mattress filled with bedbugs. If it's that expensive, my goddamn roach roommates better pay their end." He demands, his voice strained with irritation. The man's eyes slowly look up at Toby with a bored expression and he sighs.

"Fine. How's $40?" He asks. Thank God this idiot knows how to be reasonable, Toby praises as he splits up his cash, handing the man what he owes in exchange for a key with a plastic tag reading '101'. Room 101 is a bit of a walk from the check-in part of the motel, but he gets there eventually.

Finally, some relaxation. Well, compared to what he's been dealing with for the last week or so. He hasn't slept in a bed for about 5 days now, either not sleeping and continuing his journey throughout the night, or resting on public property for an hour or two. Just to rest his eyes. The room looks okay at first glance: reddish, brown curtains covering the window, a bed with a white, red and orange floral comforter draped neatly over top and a little table next to the bed (with a drawer!) Off to the side is a door leading to the bathroom, a crammed space with a standing shower, a toilet and a little sink. There's a bathmat on the ground just outside the shower with a faint yellow stain in the middle.

"For fuck sake," Toby mutters, glancing on the sink counter, "at least there's soap, maybe I'll shower later."

He exits the bathroom and takes a seat on the bed which is softer than he expected and he almost feels bad for insulting the presumed manager about the place. So far no bugs have been found! He opens the drawer next to the bed to see an old corded phone and a pack of cigarettes next to it. What is this, the 60s? What's a phone like that doing here? And cigarettes? Someone must have left it. He takes out the pack, and finds 6 of 10 sticks remain. Toby isn't one who smokes but hey, it's a way to pass the time here. He digs out the matches in his pocket, puts a cig between his lips and lights the match, taking a short drag before he breaks out into a coughing fit.