The light fabric of the curtains blew inward a touch. It receded into the window again, then cautiously swayed back away from opening it shrouded. I rose from the bed, reached through the curtains, and pulled the windows to, interlocking their edges as they swung closed like double doors. A twist of my hand latched them shut, halting the unseasonably cool breeze. <\/p>\n
The room was small, and seemed even more diminutive on account of the slant of the roof bisecting its otherwise rectilinear form. The sleeper window cut into the incline of the ceiling, partially relieving the lack of space. I could hear my brother David’s rhythmic breathing on one of the room’s two beds more distinctly now that the window was shut, though it almost echoed the ebb and flow of the breeze through the curtains. I looked at him. He was the image of peace itself, head turned on the pillow, mouth slightly ajar, covered in a thin brown blanket captured in the slanting rectangles of city light passing through the panes. I moved again. The carpet fibers worked their way around my toes as I padded deliberately, quietly into the restroom, intent on preparing for sleep.<\/p>\n
The restroom was even smaller than the previous, covered in glossy auburn tilework, and contained a window the size of the bedroom’s perched above the bathtub, for which there was no showerhead. I resigned myself to a bath, late as it was. The water was loud as burbled and flowed into the basin, and it took me a while to find the right angle for each of the knobs so that the water filled the tub with an agreeable temperature. The tub full, I closed the tap, undressed, and slipped into the basin. It was more than a bit warmer than I had forseen, so I settled in as much as I could and opened the window above me. A cool rush of air fell from the sill onto the surface of the water, quickly cutting through the steam in the small room. I breathed relief and sunk deeper into the water, until only my head and my knees broke the surface. I listened to the sounds of the city outside, now distinct: the grumble of the tires passing over the recently rained-upon cobblestones, the buzz of the scooters in the night, the dissonant symphony of distant horns at intersections, far away from the hotel’s side street, and far below the fourth floor. The breeze washed in again, covering the din with its movement, passing underneath the warm lights flanking the mirror, illluminating the old-world sketch of details that was the room. I rested in that moment for a long time, soaking in the subtleties of a night in Paris.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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