I can host

you know this room
this exact room

you’ve seen it before
even if you haven’t

low ceiling
mattress too close to the floor
LED lights set to that color
that says
you’re not here to talk

two empty bags of chips
in the corner
a scatter of tissues
the ambiguous kind
you choose not to investigate

three energy drink cans
one still sweating

some kind of workout equipment
pushed off to the side
as if the body here
is a full-time project

this man smells like
Gillette Sport
confidence
and poor decisions

flat brim
mid-calf socks
a thin gold chain
catching the full cinematic glow
of the gaming monitor

why does this man
look like he has a routine

why does this space
feel optimized

no clutter that matters
no personality that lingers

just surface area
and intent

you walk in
the door closes
with that soft click

he says
"relax"

in a tone
that suggests relaxation
is not the point

your phone is face down
so are you

time becomes theoretical
dignity becomes optional
your sense of control
has left the chat

minutes later
you emerge

legs negotiating
with gravity
walking like Bambi on ice

trying to remember
how civilian life works

the outside air
too bright
too judgmental

you text your friend
"hey"

which actually means
I survived
but at what cost

and the worst part
the truly humiliating part

halfway home
your body still buffering

you open the app

because of course you do

and there he is
online

distance: 0.2 miles away
bio unchanged

"I can host"