The Cecil Hotel

Chapter 5: Fat Robbie

Flashback to 1985

Way back in 1985, a Danish teenager from Whales named Robbie Claxton worked at the Cecil for 2 bucks a night. He was nicknamed Fat Robbie because he was always chubby. And about the same time he stayed there there was a riot exactly like the Trump riot, except it was even more horrific. Back in 1985 everyone shared rooms because there weren't enough for all the 7 thousand people who wanted to stay there each night.
"Well Burt, there's no way in hell we can fit 7,000 damn people into this building," said Fat Robbie, pissed off.

"Well Rob, I guess we just have to house more than one person in each room," said Burt, another Amish man.

"Wait you mean 10 people in each room? Bro that just ain't right," said Fat Robbie.

"They'll just gotta sleep in the lobby I guess," said Burt.

Fat Robbie was even more pissed off, yet he knew he had to do everything Burt told him or else he'd be fired from his friggin job. Fuck this place is boring as hell. I just wanna go home and watch violent action movies with cartoon figures killing each other, he thought.

But that same night was when the hotel became more like a battle ground than a hotel. Just as soon as the topic of Richard Nixon got brought up every single person in the hotel was throwing bottles of beer and at each other. One guy even had to get plastic surgery. But that wasn't the only thing that haunted the hotel. That same night an angry ram burst into the room and bumped Fat Robbie's butt so hard that he flew out of his hotel window and landed in the dump. That was the end of him.

It turned out that not only he got killed, but also another man named John Wright - he got his butt busted too and was officially pronounced dead on July 22, 1985.

Back to 2016

Mike woke up after he had intense dreams about the intruder breaking into his house and stealing all his money, which was all Mike and Gil cared about was money. Even more than their lives, in a matter of fact.
"If ya ain't got money, ya ain't got no life. Ya might as well end up dead in the dumpster somewhere like the good ol'Robbie Claxton," said Gil as he got out of bed.

Gobe-Joe rubbed his eyes and shook his beard, trying to make it do a hula dance. "Mighty fine day, ain't it?" He said as the sun appeared in the sky.

When Mike woke up, all he expected was to wake up to the sound of Gil cussing at the TV for not playing cartoons and losing internet connection.

Gobe-Joe looked at his watch. "Seven o'clock," he said proudly, like an old Irish man. "And did I hear you just say Robbie Claxton? He was my bro. We went to high school together in the 80s. It was a pretty chillass time back then," said Gobe-Joe.

Gil, completely ignoring the conversation, wanted to get whiskey right away. That was when he started cursing again.

"Oh god damn you fucking dickhead," he said as the cap to his bottle of whiskey refused to open.

"You know, I'd pay to hear you swear at me if I could. You're awful good at it, you know," said Gobe-Joe.

Gil glared at him and continued cussing in Hebrew so Gobe-Joe would shut up.

And he did shut up.

(To be continued)