Infinite. Indefinite.

3. Khushal•Happy

Driving down the strip is an experience. There is a weird, gnawing excitement building in me. The bright lights and rancorous people invigorate me and drain my fatigue. Instead, I am instilled with a renewed awe. I don't know where it's coming from but I'm down for feeling this for a while longer.

I drive around for a bit, somehow ending up in front of Cesar's Palace. A place I am almost 5004% sure I could never afford but I'm feeling oddly reckless. I park and get out of the car. Someone bumps into me. It's a woman. There's nothing exorbitantly beautiful about her. She has plain but distinguished features. Her straight nose, perfect eyebrows and normal sized red stained lips were all ordinary enough but her eyes were a clear, piercing green. Eyes, that were, at present, assessing and notably writing me off.

"Careful." She simply says and walks away. Her tone was neither harsh nor reproaching but it left a distinctly uncomfortable feeling in me.

Or maybe it was that she looked at me and saw that I was definitely not worthy of staying at a place like this.

I look down at myself, momentarily sustained. I'm wearing blue shorts and a not so white, white tank top. I look around speculatively. This place was swanky and the clientele screamingly reflected this. I pause.

I get back into my car and look through my backpack. I have almost no money. Almost. If I waste money on clothes I'll have to seriously downgrade my living arrangements. More than they already are. I redistribute my budget. I need money for at least one tank of gas. Pizza. Wine. The lotto machines. The casino. And a place to sleep indefinitely. After all this I have $12. I frown at the money. Screw gas. I redistribute again.

I get out of the car and walk around. It takes me a while to find a store that fits all my requirements. My requirements being nice(ish) clothes and cheap. Once inside, I look around for a bit. I decide that I need a semi fancy sundress and jumpsuit. This will last me at least a couple of days of phoning around. The white tennis shoes I saved in my suitcase and the only pair of heels I brought with me will have to do.

I now am very scarily close to being officially broke.

I change into the sundress in the dressing room of the store and come out. I look at myself in the mirror. I need to scrub my face and maybe spritz some more deodorant but I look semi presentable. I tie my oily, frizzed out hair into a bun on top of my head and step out. I go into the bathroom of a nearby restaurant and scrub my face. When I look up my tanned face looks slightly flushed but clean and shine free.

I walk back to my car and switch my white converse for the nice, navy blue pointed toe heels I used to wear to work. It matches well with similar hued jumpsuit. I tweeze my eyebrows for the first time in three weeks and use some concealer and blush. I wear my sunglasses and walk into the posh establishment with my heart drumming dramatically in my chest.

I walk past the front desk and ignore the calls of the concierge. I hurry into the elevator. The elevator man looks at me expectantly and I answer "27th floor", my voice free from the nervous tittering in my body. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I'm doing. I know for sure that what I'm doing is absolutely insane. But I don't care. At all.

This is what I needed. Not hiking in abominable conditions. This.

I feel more alive now than I have ever felt in my entire life.

The elevator opens. I'm the only one in the elevator so I know this is my stop. I know I have to tip this man. I also know I have no money to tip him. I let out a breezy "Thank you Carl," after briefly glancing at his name tag and rush -elegantly- out of the elevator.

I walk down the corridor, not quite sure what to do next. I see an open door towards the end of the hallway with a housekeeping cart outside. I quietly, covertly look inside and see housekeeping working. I lean against the wall next to the door. My heartbeat has reached a crescendo. I'm trying to make my brain send an impulse to my heart, telling it to shut the fuck up. I'm warily concerned that someone will hear it and find me. I cannot let that happen. So keep it down in there chest!

I hear movement inside and panic. I don't have much time. What am I even doing? I look into the cart and find a handkerchief. I take it out tear it in half. Then I fold it and peek inside the room again. The woman is backing me. Tidying up the desk. I look around quickly, surveying the corridor for witnesses or cameras. There are neither. I quickly put the folded scrap of handkerchief into the door lock and hurry away.

I stand a little way down and stare at painting, feigning interest in the abstract piece of shit adorning the wall. And wait.

It takes the cleaning lady another six minutes to leave the room. When she does, I hold my breath and try to slow down my heart as she closes the door and moves to the next room. I'm quite concerned about my health at the moment. I think that if my heart continues on like this, there is a very real possibility of a heart attack.

When the lady goes into the next room, I hurry to the room she just vacated. Holding my breath, I twist the door knob.

It opens! The breath leaves me in an audible whoosh. I quickly go in, removing the scrap of material from the door and closing the door behind me.

I lean against the door and look at the room in front of me. It is magnificent. Unlike anything I've ever seen ever in my life. Awake or otherwise.

The room is bright and opulent. As I enter the room I can only assume is the living area, I am hit with waves of grandiose excess. I walk through the tastefully furnished room into the next and am once again hit by luxe. This can only be a bedroom, with its bed and parallel entertainment system and sitting area. Yet, it is unlike any bedroom I have ever known. My own would fit into this one at least three times. The bed is large and dark wood with white bedding. There are two other entrances attached. I go into one which I almost mistake for another room. It is a bathroom. Almost the same size as the bedroom. There is a large white marble bath tub and a large sophisticated looking shower. I leave immediately intimidated and walk into the other room.

It looks like a closet. There are rows and rows of shelves with clothes. There is even a little sitting place and a full dresser. It looks like the room belongs to a man. A man with considerably good taste. And money.

Whoever can afford this place must have boatloads of money.

I leave the closet and sit on the edge of the bed. What am I really doing here? I lie down gingerly on the bed. It's a really nice bed. Considerably better than any I've ever slept on. Suddenly, I don't really care about the what's and whys and how's. I'm overwhelmed by fatigue. I close my eyes and slip off my heels.

Only for a little bit. Then I plan my next move.

Or I could just stay here. For however long I can.