One checks into the Metropole Hotel under an assumed name. One has no luggage. Only a little money, local currency, a fake ID. In the hotel bar, one orders a shot of chilled fernet. The bartender says to relax at a table. One sits near the large arched window. Outside, the wind picks up. A scrum of tourists in leisurewear glances to the sky and then attempts to peer through the clouded glass. One looks away, hopes not to be the same as them. Not here, so far from home. So many business trips to this part of the world have left one in search of the eternal new. And, in due course, led one here, finally ready to write a resignation letter.

The bartender stops by the table and sets down the fernet. One hands the bartender some local currency and says thanks in a foreign language. The bartender makes a face and returns to the bar. One knocks one’s drink back and shudders a little from the cold. Then a familiar warmth spreads through one’s body. One feels good, comfortable, younger than fifty years.

One smooths out a slip of paper on the table and thinks about what to write. Before long, one notices sometwo seated in the far corner. Two’s young, fair-haired, has a pair of flat brown moles marring a cheek. A suede jacket hangs over the chair opposite. One makes eye contact. There’s a connection, a mutual understanding. Two waves one over. One grins. One breathes on one’s palm and sniffs hours-old choripán. Three’s favorite street food. One decides to chance it with two. Three will never find out. Three’s busy at home, a continent away, with half and third. One joins two. Cocktails are ordered. Tinchos arrive a moment later. One cheers to fresh starts, and two smiles and clinks glasses.

“Last business trip for a while,” one says. “Let’s go out with a bang.”

Two looks blank.

One and two speak different languages. One gestures through the confusion. Two offers a few broken words. There’s a reversion to an unidentifiable language, a precursor to both tongues. Conversation revolves around the boredom of life and a lack of money and how two is open to certain things. Sly laughter barely covers a mention of four. Three’s not brought up. Traveling alone draws admirers, hangers-on, new lives. Possibilities. A spritz of magic.

Another Tincho, and one suggests retiring to the room. There’s a sunset view of the city, a stocked minibar, a hot tub, freshly laundered sheets. And, one hints, one is very good in bed. Two swirls a fingertip in the well of one’s glass then gently sucks on that finger. One tosses some local currency onto the table. Two rises. One lurches up and nods at the bartender, catching two in the lobby. Both squeeze into the elevator. Mirrored brass lines the inside. There’s silence in the infinitudes of ones and twos. The doors close. One strokes two’s face, skims across the moles. Two kisses one. Bites lips. Hands slip across chests, then hips, navigating pockets and beltlines. The elevator bell dings and the door opens slowly, separating the brassed version of this couple.

“Who knows where this might lead?” says one, stepping out into the dim hallway. “The path of life is never clear.”

Two remains in the elevator, arms crossed, uninterested, a stranger. Tired eyes look right through one.

“Everything okay?”

Two mentions the suede jacket left in the bar and presses a button on the panel.

One starts to say, “Room service can bring it up…” but the doors close. One wonders how long two will take to return and whether two might bring four to the room. One has never slept with two plus four. That would irritate the unnumbered in accounting. If only one still wanted that job, that settled life in a different country. Does three even know one’s true inner life? Or know about past twos? Past chances to start again? One should call three later, check in on half and third, see if one’s missed. For now, the elevator returns. The mirrored inside appears empty. But a reflection stares back: the face somehow older, the jaw slack, the eyes slightly out of focus. This life stays there for a moment, a temporary existence in the world, a trick of the light.