Heartbreak Hotel

A Spout of Blues

He lied there, surrounded by rumpled sheets, even as the daylight shone in through his window. He leaned up to scowl at the sudden light; it was almost ugly in the way it stood out drastically against the dark scheme of the hotel room. He winced, squinting his eyes at his window. He knew he should get up and walk over to pull the blinds over, but he didn't feel like it. He yawned and rolled over, eyes closed for another short sleep filled with troubled dreams.

A knock startled him. He opened his eyes. His glare towards the door was paired with a snarl of: "Leave me alone."

The visitor must have left, because he did not hear a second knock. Finally. He sent a second dirty look at the door before he fell asleep again. Outside, the sun shone all the while.

He awoke again a few hours later. His stomach rumbled. He groaned, got out of bed reluctantly, and headed to the shower. The water was warm, which may have been a plus in a place like the one his feet rested on, but he hardly felt the warmth. It didn't mean much how he looked, though once upon a time, it may have. It didn't matter; that was in the past. This was his now, whatever it was. He dressed quickly and headed down to the lobby.

The cafe owner greeted him. "Morning, Tom." But even he could not fake a smile for his guest.

"Morning, if you say so," Tom mumbled. He watched but did not see the cafe owner pour him a cup of coffee.

"Your morning brew, specially made with the tears of virgins."

In a different time, Tom would have choked and burst into laughter. Instead, he rolled his eyes halfheartedly and took a sip of his coffee. It was a pathetic brew: cold and bitter. He drank it anyway, because somehow it would get him through the day. That and the pack of cigarettes secured in his back pocket.

"I know you miss her, Thomas. I can see it in your eyes," the cafe owner said quietly.

Tom glared down at the table, but he did not say a word in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone sit next to him and he heard a voice say, "Don't we all?"

"I guess we do," the cafe owner replied.

Tom stirred his coffee, though there was no point to, with a spoon. He sipped from it, grimacing from the bitter taste. At least, it was not decaf. It was still trash, all in all, and he never finished it, never had and he never would. Tom took another dreadful sip from the mug, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then stood up and left to go back to his room for, perhaps, some more sleep. He loved sleep: nobody bothered him there, no girl could leave him - that was until his eyes opened; but then they would close again, and she would return. Sleep was bliss.

The man who had sat next to Tom nodded at the cafe owner. "I'll have what he's having."

"What's that - the coffee or the spout of blues, Mr. Rose?" He chuckled without humor.

"Just forget it." Axl stood up and was about to leave when the cafe owner grabbed his arm.

"Listen, Mr. Rose, I didn't mean -"

"Just leave me the hell alone. I don't want your pity." And the cafe owner's second customer walked out.

The cafe owner himself sighed. He was use to the woes of his customers; not a single one of them had been happy in his forty-so years of employment at the hotel. Not that he expected such. It would have been out of the blue and downright terrifying if one of his customers greeted him with a smile and a "It's a very good morning!" It was odd how such a normal thing could be so different in the right dreary atmosphere that the hotel contained. It was rumored that the hotel had been built and opened by a heartbroken man over the murder of his lover. Since the opening day, not much had changed in the hotel. It was still as dreary and gloomy as ever. Not that the cafe owner expected anything to change. He was use to the unhappiness, use to the tales of heartbreak. That was all there was there: the spout of blues just kept spurting out, an endless flow. He shook his head and picked up the mug Tom had left. He never did finish his morning brew, even if it wasn't made from the tears of the sexually naive. The cafe owner was use to this, too. In fact, he was use to it all, really. Use to the heartbreak, especially. He shook his head again with a sigh. Heartbreak Hotel was sure a palace.