The cool breeze cut through the night, merciless and unforgiving. For most sightseers, it was tolerable. For a young man in threadbare clothes and a ragged scarf barely clinging to his neck, it was a battle.
"Where's the manager? I'd like to speak to the manager." William announced as loudly as he could, stepping into the dimly lit bar.
A waiter glanced at him briefly, then went back to cleaning glasses. Being ignored for the third time today, William sighed and approached the bar.
The bartender glanced up from his mixing glass, raising an eyebrow at the shadow looming over him.
"What can I get you, Señor?"
"I saw a poster outside. You're hiring waiters—I'd like to apply."
The bartender smirked. "Rejected."
"Why? You don't even know my name."
"Exactly. But you must've missed the fine print: female waiters only."
"That's ridiculous!" William protested, his voice rising. "I'd be serving the same drinks."
"But not with the same… appeal," the bartender replied, his smirk widening.
Stunned and humiliated, William turned on his heel and left. "Third rejection of the day. Congratulations, William. Freedom's done you well, hasn't it? You've really fucked it up this time." He muttered bitterly to himself as his breath turned to fog in the icy air.
Soon, he reached a shabby hotel. The paint on its walls was peeling, the door hung crooked, and the faint smell of rot wafted from within.
He entered cautiously, the dim light revealing stacks of stained, dusty documents on the reception desk. A thin, balding man with a beret too large for his head sat behind it, stroking his unkempt stubble.
"Hi kind sir. I'd like a room for tonight"
"Can you even afford it, you imbecile rat?" the man asked without looking up.
"I… I don't have money," William admitted, staring at his worn shoes as if they might disintegrate under his gaze.
"Then get out."
"Wait! I could… do chores?" William's eyes darted around for inspiration but landed on a moldy piece of cheese so rotten even the mice avoided it.
"Chores? You think we need that?" The manager snorted, pointing to a fragile, starved boy sweeping in the corner. "We already have that barely-breathing excuse for a worker."
"I could promote your business," William offered, desperation thick in his voice.
"With that outfit? Don't waste my time, boy. Now, leave."
Thud.
William dropped to his knees, his pride shattered. "Please, sir. I beg you. I have nowhere else to go. Let me stay the night—I'll do whatever you ask." His voice cracked, his words raw with despair.
"Anything?" the manager asked, a cruel gleam in his eye.
William hesitated, swallowing hard. "Anything" William pondered on the words for a while "except for a life."
"Boring," the manager muttered, turning away. Then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, he tossed a single key onto the desk.
"That's for the attic. Plenty of rags up there—use them. But you're out before five. And remember: we have a bargain."
William grabbed the key, his fingers trembling, and started toward the stairs. At the first creak of the steps, he stopped and looked back.
"Anything… except for a life."
The manager smirked, his eyes narrowing. "A life."