Silhouettes of nude men brush slowly past as I wander the narrow corridors, checking ascending and descending door numbers, trying to look like I know what I’m doing.
161, no TV), two blue Lifestyles rubbers and a bleached towel through the change trough. Yeah, baby, I’m cool! He gives me back a 20 and then my actual change, and slips a small voucher, room keys (no. The guy behind the Plexiglas says “23 bucks,” and I push him three crisp 20s, apologizing for a lack of smaller bills. Illustration by Trask Bedortha Īs soon as I step through the door, my nose fills with that universal sex-shop smell, a combination of chlorine and something sort of sweetish and sweaty and overripe.
