The saxophone was playing downstairs. Sounds of the hotel band echoed up the halls, through the corridors and onto the 5th floor, room 506. Silver cups for french espresso and folded down blankets at the end of the bed. She waited for him on the balcony of their room. He always left the music playing, he was a musician after all. At night he would tend to his band and play from sheets of music to the passing guests. Coming and going, always staying or leaving. Check out time always had to be at 11AM; no sooner, no later. But for the young girl, there never was such a time. For she lived at the hotel. In fact, she seldom left.