Enter discipleship

"don't talk to me before i've had my coffee!" i scream cheerfully - slamming my now bleeding palm repeatedly on the bell at the hotel reception desk - its clinging echoing wildly in the empty lobby as i turn my head robotically, eyes popped and bloodshot, roving for prey

"somebodys got a case of the mondays!" i bellow, kicking in door after door, swinging my machete wildly at empty air, sucking humid air through clenched teeth, sure as the grave that those i hunt lurk around the next carpeted hallway corner

"hump day? more like aaaaahhhhhaaaaahHHHHHHHHAAAAAHHHHHHH" I yell before burying my tired face in oil and blood stained hands, dryly sobbing in front of the big screen i have buried my blade in, in room 303, after four consecutive hours of breaking into empty rooms

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