“It’s the door at the end of the hallway on the third floor,” the guy in the glass-enclosed reception station at the rundown boarding house said. He reached through a small opening in the glass partition and handed Eddie the key. “The one with the fire extinguisher on the floor just outside the door,” the guy added.
“What a fuckin’ dump,” Eddie said aloud, even though he was alone, as he opened the door and stepped inside the room. Eddie’s gambling addiction had cost him his job, his marriage, and his home. And so here he was in a small, smelly room at some crummy flop house.
Eddie had paid for the room for a week in advance and couldn’t afford to lose what little money he had left on another bet. So he was happy that the room he had rented didn’t have a TV in it. If it had, he knew he’d be watching the Winter Olympic Games and calling his bookie to bet on Team USA in one or another event.
But then Eddie walked over to the small window, opened it, looked out, and saw the sports bar across the street.
“Fuck me,” he said.
Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt. Photo credit: J Hardy Carroll.