He’d come to recognize the quality of a place by just the corridors – the stark walls, the simple gray carpet, the porcelain wall sconces casting geometric light. Every floor was the same. He stood outside the elevator of the seventh floor and straightened himself. He was nervous. The client was in room 7114. He walked past silent doors, his black leather shoes, freshly shined, silent on the pristine carpet. He’d pulled his best suit out for this evening, grey and perfectly tailored. He’d padded his pocket with a kerchief to match the silk tie, both a dark purple – the client’s favorite color, if he remembered correctly. He read the next door as he passed – 7110. He was getting close. He tried to ignore the knot in his stomach. Just a few more steps and he was standing outside her door. He raised his hand to knock, and stopped to arrange himself one more time, for good measure – buttons set, kerchief square, tie straight. He ran his hands over the back of his hair, freshly shorn for the occasion.
