Full Service

The hotel manager looks up as the doors to the elevator open.  A disheveled man, dressed in a white robe covered with dark red stains, stumbles out through the doors and hurries over to the front desk.  His eyes are wild, and he appears to be in great distress.

“Oh God, I need help,” the man stammers.  “I…  I think I killed her.  Oh shit.  Oh shit.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” the manager assures him.  “We would be happy to… assist with your situation.  We are, after all, a full service hotel.”

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