i am in a hotel corridor. i walk along the corridor and it is bathed in a dim yellow from the highly mounted lamps hanging from both sides of the wall. the carpeting under my feet feels soft and is blue in colour. or red, it doesn't really matter. the smell in the air brings back vague recollections of ikea. clean and airy with pinewood undertones. i am holding someone's hand. that someone is much younger and much smaller than i am. the face is as clear as glass at this very moment, but like all dreams will slowly be rendered unrecognizable. i walk from room to room pressing on each individual doorbell, asking the guests inside if they know me. none seem to recognize the face staring back at them through the narrow space between the frame and the door which is restricted by the door chain. all of the people inside tell me the same thing, that they're sorry and that i should keep looking. i continue pressing doorbells. i persist in the rapping of wood till my knuckles thin and turn white. there is a hope that these opened doors will eventually be accompanied with someone smiling in recognition. i reach the end of the corridor. there are no more rooms, no more bells to ring, no more sad bewildered strangers. i see one last door against a drab empty wall where paint has begun peeling off at its sides. above the door there is a single dimly illuminated sign which spells out the word EXIT.
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