I pushed open the heavy glass office door, and a small brass bell rang twice above my head.

The air inside smelled of stale coffee and warm carpet.

An old woman with short gray hair sat behind a Formica counter, a pair of plastic reading glasses hanging from a silver chain around her neck.

She looked up from a folded newspaper, her eyes moving slowly from my wet hair down to Theodore wrapped inside my coat.

“Looking for a room?” she asked, her voice low and raspy.

“How much for a single bed for one night?” I asked, stepping up to the counter.