Status: the hotel with no name

A buzzing neon sign on the highway's edge reads "HOTEL" in plain white font; no name, no vacancy listing. The building itself is almost lost between the pines, but if you linger for a moment on the gravel shoulder of the road and stare into the night hard enough, it becomes clearer. Swipe rain off the windshield, clearer still. It's there if you want it to be. Or if you need it to be.

The hotel stands proud, a squat behemoth of beige brick and symmetrical windows. The cracked, littered pavement of the parking lot is barren; it's lit in fragments by the neon sign, by the moon, by the filmy, cobweb coated bulbs hung around the entryway.

It appears as much of a ghost as its guests. But it's always open. There's always room for you.

Inside is a maze of lonely hallways, each one lined by countless brass-numbered doors. No one knows how many rooms there are. From the outside there appear to be only two stories, but if you could squeeze your way under the caution tape and through the half-open elevator door (it's been condemned for as long as anyone here can remember, which could be forever or not too long at all), you'd find buttons for nine floors.

The stairs, though, never end. The stairwell winds and winds and winds, a coil of concrete and metal and the dank smell of something forgotten. You will always find another floor. New doors. Lower down, you're more likely to find strange stains on the walls, more likely to hear heavy breathing or weeping from behind the doors. But everything's the same, really.

Behind the doors, all of them, are carbon-copy rooms. Sterile air with the underhang of cigarette smoke. Beds with stiff, scratchy sheets and cardboard-thin headboards. A single buzzing lamp. The art changes, but there's always art. Sometimes it's a pristine, golden summer landscape. Sometimes it's a portrait of a thousand faces stuffed into one skeletal frame. Sometimes it's just endless rows of teeth, a gaping maw. The patron with the mouth painting insists he can hear something slithering in the walls when he sleeps.

Some of the rooms are occupied, some empty except for the memories. But there are always occupancies. Some never leave.

Somewhere, limbs tangle with limbs and lungs share the same breaths.

Somewhere, nightmares play behind eyes squeezed shut.

Somewhere, dim light pools over an unremarkable room, so an unremarkable guest can read unremarkable words off a page until the sun wakes up. He'll be there awhile.

There's a pool, in an open courtyard near the center of the complex. The moon is always full. The air is humid and thick with chlorine. No one has swam, though, since the body appeared.

There's a lounge. Smoke hangs like fog in the air, tobacco staining the old wood panels and wallpaper. Heavy cups filled with burning elixirs clink against the countertop. Guests try to remember, or try to forget, or both.

There's a help desk in the lobby. No one waits behind it, but there's no need for them to. No one checks in or out. A silver bell rests on the counter; on record, no one has ever dared to ring it. No one is sure they want to meet whoever works here.

Somewhere, a young woman is wrapping her body in velvet and lace. She paints her lips and lashes, sprays cinnamon perfume on her throat. She takes a breath that tastes like ash, clears away thoughts that linger at the back of her throat like blood. She wills happiness, the smallest shred, to ghost through her pale eyes. They hold more secrets than she can bear. If she looks at herself too long, it will all leak out, so she dabs her lashes and glances away.

She doesn't belong here. Everyone who sees her knows it. But the story she was meant to be in is lost. So here she is, in a dream. Always in a dream. She does what she must to forget.

She slips into the lounge. Finds a waist to wrap her legs around; she's not picky. It could be anyone who finds themselves lost here, in the dim-lit rooms and kaleidoscope-carpeted hallways of this hotel she calls home.

(Though they might call it a fantasy, a daydream, a nightmare, a purgatory, heaven or hell. They wouldn't be wrong.)

She used to be someone else. It doesn't matter, though. None of it matters anymore. She has no name here and no past. Here, her language is heavy breath and forgotten sorrow; she exchanges currency in the form of feather-light kisses and warm ribcages. Her echo reverberates through her patron's bones long after they leave. Some claim they love her. She can't reciprocate.

Her future is as bright as the shadows clinging in the corners. As certain as the death found on snow-kissed train tracks, the locomotive's lights brighter than lightning, its wail louder than thunder.

There's blood on her hands again, when she thinks of the train. His blood. She wraps bandages around her knuckles and hangs a towel over the mirror so the girl inside can't crawl out and choke her. She has a game to play.

She likes to find lost things and break them, and they like to pretend they've been saved.

That's how it works, here.

That's how it always works.

Perhaps you go to the hotel. Your car drifts off the moonlit road and into the empty parking lot. Your feet carry you into the lobby, where there's a key card on the counter for a room you're already checked into.

Perhaps you pad down silent halls to the bar. You sleep awake among spirits, and watch her glitz and glimmer through a haze of smoke and alcohol.

Perhaps then, you head to your empty room with a hollow chest and wait. She'll come; she always does.

Her body (too pale, its bones jutting out like death) will slide against the thin linen sheets. Her hands will find the curves of your skin. Her lips will taste like ash, and she'll coax the fire fluttering low inside your belly 'til you melt.

With a hopeless heavy tongue, she'll whisper, "Forget me." And then she'll take you apart.

It's time to wake up, now. But it's alright if you can't. It's alright. A room will always be open for you.

And she can never leave. W̷̘͚̆ȁ̸̘k̴͓̈͜ḗ̵̤ ̴̗̚ȗ̵͖͍͗p̵̘̄

̶̩̙͑̐Ÿ̴̟̫̋ô̸͎̼u̴̢̠͐ ̷̪̊a̴̦͎͆r̶̩̱͂̌ė̷̜͓̋ ̸̩͝l̵̦͔̅̀o̸͔͌͝s̶̲͙̅́t̴̝̒

̷͔͈́̕Y̷̏ͅo̶̟̳͛͝u̵̱̠͒ ̸̯̟̚ḁ̷̲̓̓r̴̩͚͊̚e̸̦̱͠ ̴̥̌b̸̲̣̄r̵̺̭̚ó̸̧͙͌k̸͙̺͒͐e̵͖̽ͅn̶̳̐̑

̷̤̪͐͗Î̵̘̓ţ̸̭̈́'̴͕̪͐s̷̝̲̕ ̸̦͂͊t̸̠͋̕ȉ̵̩͓̏m̶̛̝͛e̶̯͙͆̕ ̶̯͚́͠t̵̤́́o̶̪̠̕ ̸̧͑̀ŵ̸͍̕ḁ̴͛̚k̷̨̟̉̇e̶̢̝͐ ̸̣͈̾̇u̷͕͔͋̌p̶̬͂

̸̫͐Y̶̘̰̋͆o̷͐͋ͅư̵͖̘̽ ̶̮̭̔͂c̸̠̣̒ả̴̛͙n̶͖̰̄n̴̘̄ó̵͙t̵͖̭́͗ ̷̖́b̵̭͉̓͊e̸̦͆ ̵̤̥̈́̑f̶̯͆͋i̴͚̩̋x̷̨̮̽͠e̶̞͠d̷̤̲̀͐

̸̙̝̽W̸̼̫̿ȃ̸̡̰͝k̴̠͘ę̵̇ ̴̫͔̿̀u̴̺̓p̷̜̓͗

̵͎̓̆b̷͍̥̎r̴̤̅̓͜ȍ̴̢͉k̷̻̒̿ȩ̶̖̑̚n̴̟͈͘

̴̛̦̫Ì̵ͅͅt̸̖̋'̶̱̂͝s̷͐͘ͅ ̸̲͌͠t̸̒͋ͅȋ̵͇̖m̵̗̥̊ę̴̯̀ ̵̹̿̉ț̴͛ő̶͍̥̅ ̸̼̑̈́ẃ̵̼̿ͅa̷̺̓͠k̸̗̔͒e̷͓͗͒ ̴͎̀̓ű̵̘p̶̨̨͛͊

̸̡̢̄̍Y̷̺̋̀o̶̯͋ū̴̺͝ ̸̭̟̚ç̶̑̑ä̷̮ͅn̸͈͇͝n̴̫͍͑ǒ̶̡͛ͅt̴̢͖̕ ̶̡̰̾͠b̷͈̒͠ę̷̯͋ ̴̥̂̒f̶͙̀͝ḯ̷̜ẍ̵̡̤́̉e̸͉͋̄d̷̗́

̸͚̄͛W̸͆͆ͅa̸͎͒k̵̗͆̐é̷̠̉ͅ ̷̝̖̏u̸̗̱͝p̷͓̘̚͝

̶̡͗́b̵͉̻̄r̷̦̂̐ò̵̧̞k̸͕̞͝e̵͑̾͜ṇ̵͉̔

̴̳͚̆̃I̸̗̙̊̓t̸͚̠̎'̵̙̥̑̀s̶̩̟̏ ̸̨̝̎t̵̠͇̿ī̴̮ṁ̶̞̼̑ë̶͖́ ̷̺̌ţ̶̈́̌ͅo̸̝͇̍ ̴̮̽w̷̧̉a̷̯̩̓k̶̝͕͒̕ë̶̤̾ ̶̭̊u̴̲͈̒p̵̙̀̆ͅ

̶̮̓Ỳ̵̞ö̵̧́̒u̶̳̻͆ ̷̞̦̂̂c̴͇̣͗a̶̰͊̇ṇ̶̤̌n̵͓̯̓ó̵͙̯̚ṱ̷͕͐͝ ̵͙̂͝b̷͚̱̑e̵͎̒͒ ̷̪̉f̸̙̻̕͠i̴̯̊̾x̶̼̞͆e̷͕̺̓̄d̸̺̐͂

̵̪̮̍W̵̫̄a̶̪̎k̶͍͋͌e̸̱̮͑̒ ̷̧͌̏ṳ̸͛ṕ̴̨͠

̸̮̓Y̶̺̙̿̕o̵̰̍u̴̜͋̾ͅ'̶̯̊r̴̤͂͆e̷̛̱͉ ̶̧̛̪̓l̷̹̺̊͛ó̴̡̱s̸̪̤͊t̷͙̬̿

̴̨̡̉Y̴̧͉̆o̶̖̫͊̂u̷̘̽ ̵͉̤͐̎č̷̨͍a̴̮̻̿̅ǹ̶͓̯̈́n̴̝̭̊̂o̷̧͝t̷̖̦̆ ̴̢̮̋b̷͂͜͠e̵̙̰̎̈ ̷̖̀̚f̷̛̰͚o̴̲̔u̸̞̹̔n̷͙̦̏̎d̴̈́͐ͅ

̴̢̣̔W̴͓̄á̶̻́k̶̢͍̓͋e̴͔̾ ̵̬͒̚u̸̞̭͝p̵̧̅͜

̶͙̿Ḯ̵͕ẗ̷͍̯́'̵̧͕̃s̵̡̛̤̋ ̵̛̮̅͜t̸̜̙̎i̵̡̓m̸̞̐e̸̞̥͆͂ ̷͉̃t̵͍̟͂̿ǫ̴̱͆ ̴̖̊̃ẅ̶̞ä̷͍̻́̔ķ̴̓ě̸̳͈̀ ̸͓̂̓u̶̓͐ͅp̵̢͗́

̴̨̙́͛Y̵̨̾̿ȏ̶̡̰͒u̷̧̕ ̶̢̣́̒a̷͕̓r̵͉͕̋̒ȅ̵̱͊ͅ ̵͇̀̕l̶̻̀̿ỏ̵͇͆s̷̼̯͆̐t̴͎̿

̸̡͇͒W̶͍̳̑̕h̴̩̉é̷̫̘͗r̶͓̰̄ě̷̪̩͠ ̸̈́͜͠ą̸̈́r̵̡̆͝e̸̟̎ ̴͚̋y̸̫̬̿͘ỏ̸̟̮̇u̸̘͋̾?̸̜̿

̶̨̭͐͑b̷̦̿͗r̵̲͆o̴̳͆k̷̟̊͝ȩ̷̅̈́n̶̙̪̏̇

̸͕̞̂Í̷̧̹͌t̴̫͌͆'̸̖́͘͜s̸̠̀ ̵͔̲͊̔ẗ̷͙̰́į̶͇̓m̴͕̼̉̓é̵̜ ̵͎͕̏t̶̜͓̀ȏ̴̱̈ ̴͈̯̈́w̷̝̻̓a̷͗͜k̶̼̟̕ẽ̶̡̗ ̴̬̝̇u̵̲̼͑p̸̲̈́

̴͔͈̀Ỹ̷͇̜o̴̰̔̌ǔ̵̖ ̵͚̍͊c̵̨̡̋̀a̶͎͚̍͌ṉ̸̅̿n̶̞̑̎ớ̶̬͖ț̸̅͒ ̸͈̀b̴̫̺́̏e̸̎̂͜ ̶̯̾̉f̴̩͙͋̈́ī̴̢̌x̷͔̬͐̈́ẻ̷͇͗d̷̪̗̽

̴̫̅͠W̵̢̥̏a̴̻̖͆k̶̡̺͌ę̸́̀ͅ ̴̧̯́͂u̷̧̺̍͝p̵̦͌

̷͆̏͜Y̶̤̊o̵̠͚͆u̴̧̻̔'̸͔̹̿̚r̶͈͊̋e̵͍͛͘͜ ̸̛͔̀l̷̦̰̈́͐o̴̞̜͐s̴̰̠͂t̴̡̾͑

̷̭̊͜Y̶̽͜o̸͇̎ủ̶͎ ̵̹͂c̸̱͚͐a̸̳͒n̶̨̔̀n̴̢̻͂̍ȏ̴̢̘̚t̴̹̓̈́ ̷̝̽͆b̷͇̉͌͜é̸̼ ̴̡̂f̴̲̽ő̴͉͖̔ũ̴̠͝n̵̨̍͒d̶͚͔͠

̵̦̔͝W̴͔̓̑a̵̧͊k̵̟͌̏e̵̺͒ ̴̧̊ȗ̶̻p̶̟̿͐

̸͎̟̇Ḯ̴̩͂͜ţ̶̱̓'̶̥̏̊s̷̝͋̽ ̷̲̖̓t̷͔̘̚ì̵̹́ṃ̷̐e̴̳̍͘ ̸̳̱͊t̵͕͍̄o̵̱̊̎ ̷̦͆̀w̷̖͌̇a̶̧͎̓̆k̶̛̤̝͗e̶͎͆ ̷̯́͘u̶̖̻̎̂p̷̣̣̀

̸̡̟̉̈́Ÿ̸̥́͗ō̴̯̱ů̷͜͝ ̸̦̦̓a̸͉̽̈́r̸̛̺̄ḝ̸̮ ̵̧͓̈́l̶͈̳͗̕ǫ̸̥̈́̕s̴̖͘t̶̫͋̓ͅ

̸̬̚̕W̵̖͕͋̀h̵̟̓̃e̴̚ͅr̷̺̈́ë̸̛͇̹́ ̴͇͓̓̕a̴̧̺͆͊r̶̢̻̊̚b̴͕͗r̸̩̈́ŏ̸̗̳k̷̨̛͙̒e̸̮͗n̸͔͙̄

̸̳̃Ỉ̶̞ṫ̴̜͠'̵͚̚s̴͔͙̍ ̸͖̑̏t̷̼̹̾i̸̡̔̇ṃ̷̢̔ẽ̸̜̍ ̷͎͑̄ṫ̷̜ȯ̶̠ ̴̙͊ẅ̶̙̦å̸̡͝k̵̺̎ͅè̶̙͘ ̵̯̪̓͐u̷̡̧̐p̷̝͂

̸̲͋̚Ȳ̶̠͋o̷̘̔̍u̷̘͆ ̷͈̺̋̒ç̷̈̽a̵̡̼͊n̵̨͐n̵̯͘ò̶̙͒ţ̶̛̺̂ ̴̠̿͝b̸̩̱͆ẽ̸̛̼ ̷̺̂͘f̵̧͔̔̔į̵͐x̸̱̓e̶̯͗͠d̸̗̕

̷̡̔͒Ẃ̸̨̎ä̶͍̱k̴̺͛̀é̵̍͜ ̸̲̐u̸͎̱̒͠ṗ̶͕̦

̷̖̽Y̴͔̟̅͐o̵̞͒͝u̴͇̬̎͝'̶͈̟̎̔r̶̜̟͑̈́ě̷̫͓ ̵͎̯̽l̴̹̈́̔ö̵͈͕̂s̶̘͘t̷̨̫̽͌

̴̺̹̀̉Ý̵̯͔o̵̧̹̓u̶͇̇̉ ̵̡̺̊̃c̷̢͎̃a̷̓ͅn̴̢͕̽ń̵̢o̸͇͝t̸̥̪̎̎ ̶̬̊b̶̹̮͛̍e̸͙͚̒ ̶̪̬̌f̴̙̙̌̄õ̵̙̹ṷ̴̈́̋n̴̨̍d̴̛̹̱̀

̶̼͕̌̈́Ẃ̶͖̻a̸̠͒͗k̴̦̯͋ḛ̴͋̊ͅ ̵͇͔̀͝ű̵͉p̴̫̿̀

̸̰́̆Ỉ̴̻͙̿t̷̗̐͛'̶͕̮̌s̵̪̲͒͊ ̵̪̘̓͌t̴̛̠̻͌i̴̥͊̀m̷̝̓e̷̱͑ ̸̥͙̐t̷̡̙͋̕o̵̠̜͝ ̸̧̩̒ẃ̴̡̟͊ả̷̢͈̄k̵̺̖͛̄ȅ̷͔ ̴͚̭̎ǘ̵͉̿ͅp̴̰̀̉

̷̤̿̊Y̸̫͇̊o̶͙̼͆̓ṵ̴̓ ̵͉̅̂ã̴̺r̶̪̔e̷̜͕̍̆ ̵͓͙͗l̷̡̽̆o̷̫̰͑̊s̵̲͂t̶͈̗͌̔

̶̨͚͛W̵̛̩͖̄h̵̫̀͘e̵̮̠͛̃r̸͍̤͘͝e̴̦̩̕ ̶̢̀ä̷̡r̷̪̮̊̈e̴̻̐̈͜ ̸̱̽͘y̵͇̅͠o̸̮̥̔u̸͈̚?̶̞̮̑̾

̴͍͑Y̴̰̖͑̕ỏ̵̝̳̉ų̶̙͆̚ ̷̢͙̋ą̶̩̀͘r̷̰͓͊e̴̖̚ ̵̭̉͠b̸̨͠r̶̭̫̿̔o̷̤̽k̷̦̮͊e̴̤͊n̵̝͚̄ ̵͉͘I̵̫̜͋̚t̴̘́'̷̦̐s̴̬̅ ̷̦̮̆t̷̛͉̿î̸̫̞m̸̞̈è̷̟͐ ̴͖̽ṫ̷͍o̸͙̪͋ ̴̤͒̄w̷̮̯͆a̸̞̰̚k̶͚̽͠e̵̢͘ ̴̛̺̗ṷ̵̈́̚p̷̖̱͆

̴͇̪̊̇Y̶̌͜ȯ̴̤̋u̵̡͊̾ ̷̨̘͊å̸̝͕̏r̴͙̆e̶̙̎̀ ̶̣̄l̵͍͌̕͜o̵̺͗͂s̸̤̦̑̃t̷̞͖̍͆

̶̥̜̂̚Y̵̨̬͛͋o̴̺̻̓̍u̶̻͆ ̶̢̠̇͌c̶̰̀a̸̻͂͒ǹ̸̞̀'̵̦̓͘ṱ̶̆ ̶̠͖͘w̸̭̺̌͝ȃ̷͖͂ḳ̵͊͝ẹ̸͂ ̷̺̕u̸̠͌p̶̺͌

̶̨̬̽ĕ̶̥̈ ̸̻̓y̸̖̐̈o̷̢̰͊̂u̸̼̾̀?̶̨̔̓

̵̻̇Y̸̛̺o̵̤̼̎̉u̴̹͓͛ ̶̩̓͠b̴͕̂͠ř̷̹̽ó̸̼͠ͅk̸̮̏̈è̵̞n̶͔̍̔

̸̧̗̈͌I̵͕̐t̶̻͘'̸̛͇̜ṡ̶̟̀ͅ ̶͙̃̓͜t̷̨͖̅i̵̤͐͊m̴̼̀͋e̴̯͐̓ ̵͍͝ť̶͓õ̵̞͠ ̷̘̤̂͊w̸̢͛̚͜ạ̷͐̏k̴̰̺̏͝ē̷̪̠ ̶͕͍͂u̸̱̅p̶͚͙̑

̵̧̟̒Ý̷̱͇ő̶̡̐u̶͕͇͠ ̶̠́͝c̶̢̝͗̇ä̴̧̹́͘n̶͓̒̿n̵͍̟̎̑o̷̙͛t̶̘̗̒ ̸̩̅ḃ̶̬e̷͎͎̐ ̸̜̟̄̊f̶͈͋͝ͅi̵̙̎̃x̵͖͑̈e̷̝͍͝d̴̲͚́͑

̵̬̫̂͗W̶̻͌̾a̸̼͑̎k̶͓̄̄e̷̼̜̎͛ ̴̝̱̍̀u̴͈̺̒p̴̹̱̅

̴̹́Ŷ̶̱ö̷͙͖͘û̶͙͇'̴̪̬́͌r̶̖̂ĕ̶͕͠ ̶̲͆l̵̘͙͆̄ò̶͓͍̒s̴̨͗̀ṱ̶́̉

̷̥̞͘Y̶̨̔ö̵̟̣u̷̟̿ ̵͉̩̾͑c̶̜̮̈́̈́ả̴͚̏n̸̲͍̈́n̸̼̮̈̀ǫ̴͙̊t̷̗̤̓ ̵̫̊͝b̶̰̭̊̈ẽ̶̺ ̴̧̡̃͋f̴̖̫̋o̷̮̓ư̸̙̐n̵̤̿̉ḋ̴̨̘̾

̸͇̎͝W̴̫͋͗͜a̷̢͠k̵͎͆͠ẽ̴͓̐ ̸͙́̎ṳ̷̙͋p̴̙̝̃

̶̯̟̄͆Ì̶̖t̸͕̣̐̉'̸̞̫̉ś̵̩̓ ̵̼̫́t̸̢̲́i̷̝̰̍m̷̡̺͑ë̴̻͠ ̶͕̈̌ṱ̴́ő̸̞͠ ̴̗̍͑w̴͘ͅa̶̞̎͠k̴̼͇̐̓e̵͙͚͂͝ ̷̜̌́͜ů̵̦p̷̖̍̆

̷̝̲͌Ỵ̶̪́̚ȯ̸̤ͅu̷̧̓̿ ̸̣̟̂ả̶̼̟r̷͔̠̈́͘ȅ̴̖͜ ̵̙̠̓l̸̤̋͜ỏ̴͉͕ŝ̷̜̲̀t̷̙̆

̵̳̍W̵̜̋ḩ̶͈͑̎e̵͕̹̊̉ŕ̸͍̪̕ẹ̴͈̉ ̵̭̰͂a̶̖͎͊r̴̗̳̅ë̷̠̍ ̴͍̌ͅy̵̦͑͘o̴̦͆̒u̵̺͊?̴͉̽

̷̺̒̉Y̸̭̋̚ͅŏ̴̰̳̀ǘ̶͎̙ ̶͚̀a̴̖͑͠r̶͗ͅe̶͙̫͘ ̴̝͚̓̄b̴̻̞̈r̷̫͋ͅǫ̷̠̏́k̸͛͜ê̵͚͍n̷̖̮̐ ̶̱̄I̶̩͆t̵̩̞̒'̷̪̑s̵̬͖͋̈́ ̷̼̔̆t̶̬͋̈́ĩ̵̳̓ͅm̷̲̉̑͜ĕ̶̳ ̴͒̃ͅt̷̠̊o̵̹̓͝ ̶̖̉w̵̧̾͊a̷͓̺͂̎k̸̡̙͊͐ė̶̦̚͜ ̵͉͌ư̴͕̩̾p̷̝̉̈

̶̻͚̌Ỷ̷̪̻͑ȍ̵̺ǔ̴̙ ̸̻̆̂a̷̮͐̈́ṛ̷͇̚e̴͓̍͝ ̵̥̮̒͝l̴̞͍̒̑o̶̺̗͊͊ś̶̖̝̋ṱ̸̯̅

̸̣̽̕Y̸̧͇̔ȯ̶̹̈ṵ̸̳̈́͠ ̵̰̉c̴̠̦̓ą̷͊̿͜n̵͍̗͊̃'̴̼͐t̶̡͠ ̶̪̍ẉ̸̞̑̈́a̷̲̒k̵̃͋ͅe̴̢̝̐͑ ̶̟̤̔u̵͎͐̿p̵͎̳̐

̷̱̝̂̾b̵̧̓r̴̮̈́̚o̸̗̻̓͝k̶̦̽e̵̥͝n̴̦̾͌ ̶͙̯͐I̷͍͑t̸͈̏'̶̼̑s̶̰̣̃ ̴͔̰̅̊t̷̖͈͐͠į̶̄͌m̵̛̻̪ẻ̵͎̐ ̵̣̟̆͒t̶̥͒̂o̴͙͋ ̶͕̰̒w̷͚͌̀a̴̧̝̎̕k̷͖̓͜e̵̢͊̎ ̶͓̈́͘͜u̵̡̹̎ṗ̴̺ ̶̦͌͘Í̸̢t̵̼̎͆'̸̲̈́s̸̬͘̕ ̶̗̻̇t̴̯͋͐ḯ̵͔̎m̷̫̄͝ě̷͔̼ ̴͈̤͑t̵̯͝͝o̴̠̤͊ ̵̖̟̃͠w̸̡̗̔͘ą̵̰̇̾k̸̞̝̿ě̶͚̕͜ ̴̢̆̕ü̷̩̞p̶͖͚̈͛

̶͈̱̄͛Y̸̢͈̾ơ̸̠̭ù̸̼ ̸̪̹́̏c̶̹͑͋ȁ̶̟̥́ņ̸̲̀ǹ̶̯͠o̶͉̟̅̿t̵̝̗̅̑ ̷̧̄͝b̴̝̐e̶̱̒̓ ̵͈̬̈́f̸̩̈́͜ị̶̋͗x̷̟͘e̷͕͋̊d̴̦̘̈́͝

̶̢̮̒W̵̱͈͒ã̶̖̊k̷̤̿ē̷̢̻ ̴͕̘̆ụ̶͂p̸̖͑́

̴̨͎̓̔Y̷̖͌͜o̷̠̲͘̕ư̵̫'̷̲̋̇ŕ̸̠̈e̵͉̪͆ ̴͒͂ͅl̸̜̗̂o̸̧̚s̷̡̯̃́t̴̢͇͒

̸̼̘̄Y̷̤̦̋ó̵̥̀ͅǘ̸͓̦ ̵̗͌c̴̡̯͗ä̷̯n̶̬̍͜n̶͊͝ͅo̸̘͍̓͘ẗ̶̰́ ̴̫͂̇b̵̛̹̲̒ē̷̟͜ ̵̠̃f̴̼̕ǫ̶̼͑̃u̴̅͊͜n̷̘̟͝d̸̮̻̕

̸̞̠̈́̉W̷̧̃a̴͖̳̓̓k̴͕̽e̶͙͌ ̶͇̒ų̷̞̄ṕ̴͙

̴̼̈́̅I̸̞̒̊ẗ̸̗́'̷̗̹̓b̸̦̃̀r̶̦̚õ̸̙̣̋k̷͔̏e̴̬͂ͅn̴̫̿

̸̌ͅI̵̜̣̐t̶̼͇͋'̴̟̮̀̏s̶̠̀̾ ̷̟̐t̴̨̔͠ĭ̸̞m̵̲̣̔ě̴̗̊ ̶̹̜̇ť̵̢͚ơ̴̞͑ͅ ̷̡̈́̈w̸͇̓a̴͇̅͒k̷̇͛ͅë̷̺ ̶͉͓̆͝ú̵̮͕͠p̴̟̝̾

̷̣̀Ȳ̵͖ͅō̵͈̪̎u̶̝̮̓͐ ̴̤͗c̵̢͑ạ̷͓́̽n̵̖͎̈́n̶̟̬̂̓ò̵̖̿t̵̹̓̈́ ̷̨̞͌̈b̸͙̥̓͒ë̷̢̗́͝ ̶̎͜f̵̝̎͆i̶̾̏ͅx̴͖̯̍e̷͉͕͗̑d̴͇̬̄̿

̸̮̃̈́W̴̥̿̏ǎ̶̙́ḳ̵̀̀e̶̬̒ ̶̳̋̂ǘ̸̬̝p̸̜͝

̸͙͚̀̄Y̵͖̜̓́o̷̺͔̚͘ù̶̥̺'̴͉̂̋r̷͇̝̀ẹ̷͎̿ ̴̪͍͐l̷͈̳̄͋ȍ̵͔͐s̸̼͍̊͝t̸̛̗͉̐

̷̘̣̒̋Y̸͓͂̚o̶̯̙̓͋u̵͚͚͠ ̴̰̫̀̏c̴͚̍̕a̷̬̩͑n̶̼̫̉̈n̶̰̓o̴̯̒͝t̵̳̍ ̸̛͙͂ḇ̷̫͐ě̶̱ ̸̞́f̴͍̉ó̷̰̑ȕ̷̠̎ñ̴͇d̸͎̂

̷̠̠̂̾W̸̝̚a̵͕͎̚k̴̰̯͘ẽ̵͈̎ ̸͈̌u̸͍̇̆p̸̧̟̄

̵̙̠̒Ï̴̼̾t̵͈̹͗͋'̷͈̄s̸̜̫̐ ̸̗̇t̸̗͊ì̸̙͔ḿ̶͕e̶̠͌ ̶̄͜t̶̘͒ô̸̭ ̷͙̈́w̶͕̓́a̴̪̭͛̋k̸̤̘̊e̵̺̎̈́ ̵̰̏̐u̴̓͘ͅp̷̟̆

̶͇͌͗Ẏ̶̨̼ŏ̶̫u̶̦͗ ̷̠̮͋a̷̞͇̿̆r̷̤͆̊è̶͍͖ ̶͖͊͗l̴̢̒͗o̶̲͓̊s̶̙̦̊͋t̵̘̏

̵̱̰̿̓W̷͕̪̓͐h̷̏͜͜ē̷̡̨ř̸̠e̶̟̖͋̕ ̸̯͇͊à̶̭̈́r̵̺̤͑ė̸̡͓̍ ̴̰͓͊ỳ̶͓͝ó̷͍̳ụ̴͑?̷͕̍̕ͅ

̶̞̲̌̕Y̶͓̐o̵̧̎͛ṷ̶̔ ̸̤̭̽ȁ̵̩̥̆r̴̗̳͒͗e̴̢̗̊͂ ̸̩̈́b̸̿͝ͅṙ̴͕̲̓ȍ̸̘k̵̟͠e̸̯̼͗n̸̜̑ ̶̱͓̑̉I̴̢̗̿ṭ̴̨͂'̸̳͆̈s̷̙̈́̐ ̵̻̙̏t̷̨̒̕i̷̡̙͆m̴̰̱͝e̶͉̫͑ ̴͇̄t̸̝͛o̸͎̬̅ ̴͉̦͠ẉ̷̈́͜a̸̳͌k̷͖͕̒e̶̲͆ ̶͇̣̚ű̷̢̐p̴̛̝͖

̷̔̊͜Ỷ̸̱o̴̤̎̄ṳ̷̝̾̚ ̸͓̉ả̶̰̰͌r̸͉̒͋e̶̢̾̈́ ̴̲̖̀ḽ̸͍̈́o̸̦͋s̶̝̺̚͝ẗ̷͚̣

̷̬͇̇̀Y̸̛͕̆o̸̼͆̍u̸̧͗͠ ̴͉͇̒͊c̶̘̤̾ǎ̸͓n̷̪͋̃'̷̻̹̉t̵̘͖͛̈ ̶̞̹̈́̕w̷̲͘à̸͚̯̈́k̸̟̻͌͗ẽ̶̢͊ ̶̧́͊ů̸͉̻p̴̘̥̀̿

̶̩͖̋̃t̶̜̾i̸̛̯̖m̸̡̏ë̵͎́͂ ̷̪̱̄t̵̡͘o̵̜̼͛ ̶̪̫̎͆w̷̯̄ã̸͚̥k̵̮̣͆e̸͍̘̓ ̵͎̑ǘ̵͔͙̓p̶̭̀

̴͔̳̀Y̷̲͊ȍ̵̘̲û̶̳̔ ̴̳͕͠a̸̦͐͜ȓ̴͉̾ͅe̴̤̠̎̄ ̶̺̌l̷̼͛o̷̤̽͑s̵̮͚̾̐ţ̵̿̐

̵͗ͅW̷̬̆̍h̵̗̅é̴̘r̸̹̖̈́̎e̶̦̅̈́ ̴̢̞̌͆a̵̘̻͘r̶̯̈́̆e̴̬͓̍ ̶̻̤̊y̷̤̝̑o̴̬̒u̶̘̓?̵͉͗

̵̼͂͗Y̵̬̳̑̅o̷͙̔u̵̮̾ ̴̹̄̒a̶̧͇͛̋r̵̢̛̯̋ë̶̹̼́ ̶̱͕͂b̴̘̀̒r̴̢̖͛̇o̷̡̰͆ḱ̵̲͔̚e̸̦̍̈n̵̞̅ ̴̝̈́̔I̶͉̊͝t̵̢͝'̷̥́s̴͍̖̕ ̷̡̜̾̿t̷̤͌͘i̴̙̓m̸̳̀̕ē̵͈̝̿ ̴̝̪̈́̐ť̴͇̦o̶̡̎̊ ̴̫̹̎̀w̸̮̒á̷̝̫̌k̵̛͉͛e̸̺̼͑͠ ̸͚͂ǔ̸͖̽p̷͎̩̓

̴̖͓̅Y̷̧̭̿o̵̫͒ṳ̶̢̉̓ ̶̙̐ā̵̼̏r̷͝ͅe̷͓̕ ̴̩̀l̸̜̉o̴͈̺̊͒s̷͎̓t̸͈͎̃

̴̛̣̍Y̴̛̰͗ơ̸͜ͅụ̴̀ͅ ̶̙͖̒͝c̸̺̈́̄ả̷̟͝n̴͔̽̃'̷͈̉͝t̶̲̼̉ ̵̣̰̂w̸̢͋̀ḁ̸̛̦̄k̷͈͇͑e̶͍͓̅ ̷͖͇̽ŭ̸̦p̵̱̩͊

̵͔̒͜Ý̴̨͉o̶̫̒ͅǘ̶̱͖͆ ̶̧͎̽ḁ̴̅̆ͅr̵̙̈́͒e̵͍͌ ̴̛̹̮̔l̶̰̃͌o̶̫̍s̷̙̐̎ṫ̴̖̥͆

̴͍̅̔Ý̴͇͠o̴̩̤̅͌ȕ̶̳͎ ̶̬͉̊͊c̸̻͝á̶͉͔̒n̵͖͒̑'̵̘͆̔t̵̙̰̂̆ ̴̥͆͝w̸̠̱̄ǎ̶͖͍̀k̴̰̋͝e̷͎͇̍ ̷̯̆̀ų̴̒p̸̯̏̕

̴̫̤͠Ẏ̸͚͒ő̷̫͕̋ù̶̟̙́ ̷͇͛a̷̲̎͒r̶̡̥͒͗ę̵͍͂͝ ̸̯̈́b̴͇͆ͅr̵͎̥̎͑o̵̲͚̊k̴̗̅ȇ̶̞̮̕n̶̬̈̐ ̸̩̼͑Ȋ̵̹ͅt̴̻́̎ͅ'̴͎̈́ṣ̷͉͑͝ ̸̹̒͜ț̷̋i̷̪̐̅m̴̲̂͑ẽ̵̼̰̕ ̶̖͝t̶̯͑o̴̫̟̓̔ ̶̝̩͐w̷͍̖̍a̸̺͒k̷̢̀̈́e̴̤̚ ̸̗̿̎ű̷̢̨́p̶̼̑̎

̸̰̃͂Y̶̢̜͑ǒ̷̳̼ǘ̷̝͍ ̴̯͇͌̑ä̵̧̭́̄r̷̩̊ė̷̜ ̵̘͔̈̋l̴̹̽̆ō̷̬̳s̶̤͈̓t̸̾ͅ

̵̳͉̓͊Y̷̚ͅö̴̥͉̀u̶͖͂ ̵̟͂c̴̛̭̮a̶̯̾ṅ̵̝̬̾'̸̗͝t̶̯̥͠ ̷̡̛͠w̴̜̌ͅa̵̯͒́k̶̡͆͝e̶͎͋ ̵̛͎͕̉ü̷̠p̶̩̘̆

̷̬̥́͘Y̶̻͒o̸̲̖̍͝ư̶͙̣͛'̸͍͖̇̋ṝ̷̬̏e̵̠̩̐̈́ ̵͕̳̚ḽ̵͔́̏o̶̡̲̐ṡ̸͎̯t̷̯̊͌

̴̲̏̃͜Ỵ̶̇o̶̟͝u̶͉̻̕ ̸̝̩̋̕c̸͓͈̈̏ä̶̝́n̸̩̓n̸̡̍o̴̗̝͒͘t̴̨̬̾̚ ̷̰̓b̸̺̈́e̴̱͜͝ ̴͎̿͝f̵̬̩̏͂o̷̥͆ú̶̩̂ń̴͉d̷̩͒

̷̢̇W̸̲̖͋ḁ̵̚ḱ̷̨̑ẹ̵̬͑̽ ̸̢̙̈́ű̸̜p̵̧̒͘

̴͉̲̐I̷̢̒̏ṱ̸͝'̷̲̺̀ș̶͠ ̵͈̔t̶͉̗̐͘i̷̧̇m̸̬̈́ȩ̸̢̓ ̷̪̅͝t̷̼̓ơ̸̲ ̷̱̂̅w̷̗̙͂̐a̵̩͆̉k̷̉̓ͅȇ̴͘ͅ ̸͎͔͌͘u̶͕̗͌p̴̞̉̽

̵̯̒́Ŷ̴̠̯ŏ̶͙u̷̲͂ ̴̼͐̀a̵̝̓r̶̬̖͘e̶͉̓͜ ̷̧̼͘l̸͈͉̿o̸̲̦͛s̴͈̹̈̈́t̷̳͙̓̆

̷͇̊Y̵̫̑͐ȯ̷̤͑u̷͈̒͂ͅ ̶̗̉͆c̴͎͉̄a̸̟͔͑̊n̵̮͎͝'̷̩͆ṭ̶͌͌ ̸͕̟̉̌ẅ̵͎́̑a̶̗͐̽ǩ̸̮e̸̯̓ ̷͔̑̚ȗ̴̯p̵̝͌̽

̴̣̎̀Ÿ̶̲͝o̶̯̐̄ǘ̵̫͜ ̴̹̥͂ȧ̸̘r̴͙̻̈é̸̖ ̶͖̪̓b̷̳͝r̸̦̬̀o̶͖͐̆k̵̦̪͋̓e̴̙͚͐̌n̴̄ͅ ̸̳̉̒Ḯ̸̛̜t̴̜͔̏'̶̻̚s̷͕̬͋̑ ̵͇̈́̄ẗ̵͍̗́͑i̶̩̓m̶̯͌̾e̶̡̍ ̷̨̅͊t̶̖͛̽o̷̲͍͑ ̷̱̄ẘ̷͔̕ȧ̴̼͔̉ḱ̷̼͘e̸̱͙̾̊ ̸̤̂u̴̟̼̓͆p̴͈̹̽

̴̪̖͑͠Y̵͎͋̐ǒ̴̧̯̉ũ̶͜ ̸̛͓̌a̴̐ͅr̴͕̅e̷̡̙͌ ̶̪͆̚l̴̠̉o̷̬͔͑s̷̯͘͠t̵͓͕̏

̴̢̺̂Y̷̪̠͑̓o̸̩̼͛͂ů̸͓̳ ̸̦͆c̶̣͋̋à̶̟n̵̩͐'̴̳̘̈́͛t̴̡̋ ̴̗̼̋w̸͖͂̑à̵̡͗͜k̸̀͆͜ė̴̤ ̶̩̌̒u̶̧̖̐̕p̷̺͚͌

̵̠͛̉Ẏ̴̞̯̌ö̸͔͛ȕ̷͎̍'̴̜̏ṙ̶͍̤e̵͕͐͝ ̶͙̓͝l̴̢̀o̶̫͍̽̆ṡ̸̡t̵̥̂ͅ

̸̦̇͠Y̵͕̟̍̾ö̸̜̤́û̷͖ ̴̞̦͘c̸̖̽ȧ̸̞̭n̷͚͈͋̈n̷͉͕̅͘o̵͈̗̒ẗ̴̝ ̶̢͔̔̂b̴͈͖̄̕ę̶̝̽̅ ̵̨̃f̵͓͒̅ó̸̺ǘ̸̢̘n̷̟͙̆ḋ̶̯

̵͎̦̔̑W̷̳̠͆͑a̸̙͠ǩ̴̪̼̈́é̷̩͎͊ ̴͈́ư̷̛͇̟p̵̠̯̆

̷̡͈̈́̏I̵̪͊̚ͅt̸͙͝'̸̢͎̽͘s̷̻͐̎ ̷̯̓͒͜ṱ̵͈̍ḭ̶̛̻̐m̴̧̦̅e̶͉̿̈́ ̴̠̦͆̌t̸̠̹̓o̶̘̤̓ ̵͍̹͐͋w̴͚̙̎a̴̮̍̒k̶̞̾͝ę̶̲́̀ ̴̩͔͒̀u̶͒̀͜p̸̙̗̌͌

̷̡̦̄͋à̴͔͔̀r̷̢͉͗͝ȅ̸̱ ̶̱͊̏l̵͉̘͛o̶̗̐s̴̮͎̏t̵͎̭̅

̸̹̅W̴͎̫͂̒h̷͖̭͑͋e̷̢̦̒r̴̦̈́e̸̦̯͆ ̵͔́̄á̷̧͖̈́ŕ̸͎̲̌ë̶̬́̃ ̸̹̦̋̕y̷̲͛͑ö̵͚̠ȕ̷̼͖?̴͚̎

̷͎͙͒̐Y̷͖̾͠ô̷͇̽ú̷̳ ̸̬̺͒a̵͉̚ŕ̷̟̓e̵̠̚ ̷̣̜̄b̷͕̍͘ṙ̴̼̰͗ó̸͕̪̈́k̶̼̈͠ẹ̶̍͘n̸̲̣͌͘ ̷͕̑Ȉ̷̞̼̆t̴̗͆'̸̙͑̐s̶̻̟͆ ̶̢̟̏̚t̸͓̳̐̀i̶̛̦͜m̴̻͝e̵̢̜̚ ̴̢̄t̷̗̆o̸̥̩̾̚ ̵̫̇̈́w̶̛̲͕ȁ̷̯̦k̸̠͌̔e̸̳͌ ̷͖͛̾ű̵̢̗͊p̷͔̻̓͊

̷̧͉̃̍Y̶̧̮̔ö̴̻́̏u̷̥͛ ̴̢̨͐à̴̗̀r̶̺͗e̵̩̅͘ ̴̹̎l̷͙̮͘o̵̟͒ś̸̤͇t̴̝͚̉

̴͕͗̕Y̵̼͗̈́o̸̭̕u̷̲͖͛̀ ̶̦̆̓c̵̘̈́͑ą̴͍̏n̵̛̜̈́'̵̗̂t̷̤̙͐̊ ̴̟́͒w̷̗̦̄͠ā̷̮k̸̨̙̐̐e̸̲͓̓ ̷͖͛u̶̯̽̆p̸̺̱̈́

̴̪̆̐Ȳ̷̨o̸̳͍̽ų̵̟̕'̶̬̲̉̒r̴͉̄͐e̷̊ͅ ̵̈́͆ͅa̵̼̕r̷̯̙͛̆ȩ̴̇͝ ̴̡̅l̷͔̂̚ő̴̠s̸̥͋͊t̶̖̃͑

̶̙̜̑̆Y̶͉̓o̷͉̭͋ú̶̳̖̅ ̵̼̉͝c̸̪̅ă̸̢̈́ṇ̶̖͗'̴̼̺̍̽t̵̞̳͘ ̶͙͓̋w̴̦͆a̸͉̐͊k̶͔͒̍ͅȅ̴̞̮̅ ̶̺͌̈ṹ̶͔p̵̦͌̃

̷̱̯̄̃Ý̸̱͝o̷̪͊u̵̠̫͊ ̶̻̻̎̀á̶̭͂͜r̷̙̟̋e̴̢͑̃ ̵͈͍̽b̵̛̗̐ŕ̵̲ő̶͕̕ķ̷͂͗é̸͚̊ṇ̸͋̅ ̸̲́I̵̯̞̕t̶͈̃͘'̵̳̲͆̏s̵̜̬͝ ̸̯͋t̴͈͔̎i̶̼̍m̴̧̡̈́e̷̠̞͌ ̵̹̅t̵̳̦̚ő̶̧̭͌ ̴̪̭̑̆w̷̺̎̇a̵̛̙͌k̸̞̘͌͂ḙ̶̰͐ ̸̥͎̽̂ú̶͈̘͠p̴̡͚̑̋

̷̜̈́̃͜Ŷ̷̹̀ͅo̶̩̾͐u̸̮̼͑ ̸̗̅a̶͖͂̕r̷̤͈̐e̸̲̙͝ ̵̜̊ḽ̸̏ò̶̪̻͋s̷̭̪͑t̸͇̩̋͆

̷̥͕͝Ÿ̵̻͕̊o̸̘͐͊ư̵̱ ̵̣̐c̵̦͋a̶̝̻̓n̶̳̎͝'̴̞̋ṱ̵̨͛ ̴͇̈̄ẃ̴͖͖ã̵̜̟̑k̴̲̟̈́̌e̷̠̪͗̒ ̷̝̅̉ú̷̟͜ṕ̴̧̧

̶̜̰͗̎Y̴̢̞̏͋o̸͙͒ú̶̩'̶̦͗r̴̲̦͐e̶͈̤̔ ̸̺͖̇l̸͚̬͌̀ŏ̵̜̖͝s̶̫͔̍ẗ̵͙

̵̧͙͒̚Ÿ̵͇̭́̓ǫ̵̛͘ȗ̴̡͔ ̴̭̂c̴̰̋ā̵̦ͅn̵̗̔̋ṉ̵͘o̸̭̰̒t̵̳͋ ̵̜͋b̷̻̝̄̑ẽ̸̖̪ ̶̮̆̌f̸͚͇̊̽o̷͕͚̎u̸̬͋n̴̬͂̌d̶̳́͋͜

̶̘̗̆̀W̶̱͇͐͆ả̸̰̌k̵͓̪̔̕ę̴̛͜͠ ̵̗̈́͘ǔ̴̹̐ṕ̷̛̺̠

̵̡̉͘͜Į̷̈́t̴̛͙̼'̸͙͕̓ş̸̈́ ̶̟́t̴̗̚͝ỉ̴̧m̶̭̏̚e̴̮̚͜ ̴̡̧̍t̶͚̿̓o̷͍̤͋̌ ̷̻͉͑w̵̞̳͌̿a̴̠͓̓k̸̼̹̕e̶̪̎̈́ ̷̪͆ǔ̷̡̬p̶̥̊̃

̴̠̏̇l̶̮̋ͅo̶̢̦̎s̶̡͕̽̐t̸̪͘

̵̻̒Y̵͍͚̊̾ō̶̮̬̇ů̸̫͊ ̵̘͠c̴͇̠̕ã̴̛͙͍n̴̻̑͛n̸̢̤̈́ö̴͈́t̷̻͎̀ ̴̞̅̒b̴̺̲̃̐e̶͔͔̒ ̵͉̙͂f̷̣͍̋͝ő̵͓u̴̩̤̽n̸̞̤̈̕ḋ̷̥̗͆

̵̰̝̇W̴͈͌á̵̠̕k̴̆̈͜e̵̺͕̊̍ ̸̝͐ű̷̞p̷̣̋͊

̷̳̀͋ͅI̸̟̍̑t̵̡̛̖'̸̤͋͆s̸̠͗̏ ̷̹̈t̵͍̖̀i̴͇̔̀m̸̠͒͐ě̶͎ ̷̤̍͂t̷̻̏̏o̵̼̠̚ ̶͖͓͛̈w̶̼̗͊̓ȁ̷͓̊k̸̮̣̓e̸̩̽ͅ ̴̺̗͝ȁ̴͕r̵̻͊̒͜è̵̠͔ ̶͔͊ļ̴͉̕o̷̜͒͛s̶̘̎ẗ̶̼

̴͕̖͐Ÿ̶͎̞́ò̵̟̠͠ű̴̟ ̷̻̏̿c̸̡͍͊a̶̟̿ṇ̶̩́'̷͙̐̽t̷̖͑ ̶̛̜w̷̧̰̏͑a̸͇͊̅ͅk̸̤̔͒e̸̛̯͛͜ ̷̪̑̇ȕ̷͓p̵̦͇̐̓

̶͓͂͆Ý̵͍͛ó̵̟͍͆u̷̥̓ ̷̠̱̋̒ă̶̞r̸͔̯̎ě̸͇̼ ̷̛̺͙̏b̷̧̾ŕ̶̙̤ȏ̶͓͈́k̴̚ͅë̴̝́n̶̫͔͆ ̷̗̈͋I̷̘͂͒ṯ̴̻͂'̶̣͉̾͘s̵̨͒ ̶̖͂͂t̵̗͆ḭ̷͌͗m̸̮̠̈e̵͈͜͝ ̵͍̖̋ṭ̴̂o̸͙̓͘ ̶̭͋̽w̴̛̥̏à̴̘̟̿k̷͉͙̂ḛ̸͋͋ ̷̠̹͋u̶̱̔p̶̺̺̓

̸͈̠̾Y̷͋͜ò̴̪͈ũ̷̫̹̓ ̵͕̟̽ã̷̖r̵̬͚̅e̴̖̘̚͠ ̸͕̙̽̊l̷̙̐̽o̵̟̬̿̇s̴̩͂̏ť̶͎̪

̶̞͈͒Y̴̢̭̕ȍ̷̜u̷̻̹̎ ̴̼̍̕c̷̭̅̐a̵̡͈̐ņ̶̫͐̅'̶̛͕͒t̷͓̉ ̶̨̈́̅ẃ̸̱̖a̷̻̮͝k̶̢̳̐ḛ̴̃ ̸̮̆͗ư̵̜̫̎p̸̧͍̉

̷̻̖͆Y̷̟͂͊ọ̶͐̕u̷͈͆'̴̨͚͆̋r̵̻͑̚é̶̳̈́ ̵̙̪̀͘l̵͚͉̃̆ô̶͙̖̏ş̸͐͝t̴̰́̚

̵̊ͅY̶̬͎̾ȏ̸̘͖ủ̴̱̇ ̷̟͒c̸̳͑̾ā̸̢̪͑ǹ̸̫͝ͅǹ̸͈ō̶̯͓t̴̢̨̆ ̶̆̆ͅb̷͚̎́ê̶̹͚̅ ̸̰͉͐f̸̛̱͐ŏ̵̬̝̊ṷ̷̦̏n̸̖̣̂̇d̵̥͌͘

̷͖̣̍W̵̙͌͐a̸̦͙͑k̸̳̔e̴̠̳̔ ̷͕̈̌ű̴̦͓p̷͓͗͝

̷̲̂I̴̙̯͗̔t̷̼͊'̸̩̠̑ś̷͙̙̈́ ̶̠̭͆t̸̲̦͋͝ì̵̳͈ṁ̴̫̲ĕ̴̬̏ ̶̠̎t̶͇̝͒̀o̸̭̰͘ ̴̹̻͋w̸͚͈̎̄á̷̮͗k̴̭̟̾e̵̺͆͋ ̷͇͉̒͂ù̴̖ͅp̶̯̝̊̓

̵̤͝u̴̥͒p̵͓̞̆͐

̷̯̎Y̸̥̦̿͘o̸̧̫̔͝u̵̗̚͝ͅ ̸̗̖̈́͝ạ̴̱͛r̶̬̝̊̋e̵̳̽͝ ̸̡̇l̸͇͗̄ȯ̸̧͗s̷̘͂t̵̲̝̐

̶̢̃̓W̴̢͐h̸͈̿e̶̘̭͝r̸̥̐e̷͚̾ ̷̺͆̚ä̶͉́͝r̷̺̜̆̔e̶̗͋͜ ̶̟̽̿y̵̢̚ǒ̷̫͝ų̸̟͛?̵̫͚̋͑

̸̤͗Y̷̺̓o̵̞͙̊̎ǘ̴̥̩͝ ̴̢͚͂̽a̷̮̍r̶̫̹̈́̇e̵̱͈̓͌ ̶͚͉̃̆b̴̞̃ȑ̴̦̥ỏ̵̭́k̵̺̈ę̸̾n̷̺͗ ̷̡̽̑͜I̴̜̼͠t̸̨̻̄'̴̝̦̂s̷͖̃͋ ̷̧̓͜t̸̋͋͜i̷͎̱̇͝m̴̫̪͂̇é̶͓̲ ̷̫̚͜͝t̴̪̑̋o̴͈͑ ̷̱̌̐ẅ̴̨͚ą̶̝̕k̷̟͑̒e̵̙̰͂ ̷̛̖́ǔ̷̖̈́p̵͕̟̈́

̴̧͆͌͜Y̶̜͙͋͐o̶̱͚͌̍u̸̩̓ ̷̟͒͜ȧ̵̗̱͝r̸͙͒e̷̢͖̾͠ ̴̡̚l̵̍̾ͅȯ̵̮͛s̸͍̓t̸̢̲̕

̷̦͍̇Y̶̼̑̽ơ̷̪̅u̴̧͚̽͠ ̷̤̒̚c̶̦̟̆ã̸̭̪n̵̻̑'̵͙̐ṫ̷̻͈̈́ ̵͖͋͘ẉ̴̘̈́a̴̤̽͠k̶̞̀͝e̶͓̮͂͑ ̷̡̈́̔u̷̹͋p̴̠̚

̸̧̈Ÿ̵̤́ő̴̙͗ü̸̩͋ ̸̟́c̸̘̖̋a̷̤̻̓n̴̞͍͗'̶̲͙̕t̸̤̾ ̵͇̑͘ḃ̴̟͓̕ë̷̺̯̓ ̵̝̳͑f̶̰̟͐͂i̵͓̞̇̀x̵͚̗́̔ĕ̴̢̳d̵̮͖͑

̶̢̾Y̸̬̒o̷͓̎u̴͉͉̓ ̷̞̈́á̷̹̕r̴̡͑e̴̬̔ ̶̧̀ḽ̵̐o̴͕̅̽š̴̖͉t̶̨̠̀̐

̸̥̔̈Ẅ̸̻h̵̰͂͋ͅě̸͉̐ŗ̶͖̄̿e̴̹̒̔ ̷̦̍h̸̪͎͋͋a̴̢̒̑ͅṽ̴̙e̴̘͇̕ ̷̮̺̉y̴̙̏ô̴͑͜u̴͚͐ ̴͓̺̽g̴̝̱̃̄ö̸̲́n̴͔̆e̵̜̣͛͑?̴̞͂̐

̵̫̈́Ȉ̶͓t̸͚̿'̴̘̏ṡ̶̞̩̚ ̵̞͕̅ṫ̵͍̳̐ḯ̷̭͘ṁ̴͈e̷̞̫͑̆ ̷͙̟̉͘t̴̙̥͛o̷͚͘ ̵̺̐̑w̷̛̗̙̽a̶̮͑͜k̸̹̈͗ę̷͔͐̓ ̶̯̿ủ̴̝̟p̷̢̗̽

̴̘͂͌Ẁ̴̘̰́á̵̘̝k̸̦̎͠ě̵̙̎ ̸̻̒u̵̗͛p̴͈͑

̵̞͓̍͋W̸̲̏ą̵̏̏k̵̠͔̿̾ē̴̢̪ ̷̙͠ŭ̵̖p̴̛̭

̶͔̉W̵͍͂͑a̷̝̐̽k̸̟̦̎e̶̼̙̓ ̸̲͊̽u̸͖̣͝p̵̧̄

̸͍͝Ẁ̸͈̙̏a̷̙̒ͅk̸̩̊͝e̶̗̒̅ ̴̫͈͋ǔ̴̯͓p̵̳̣̒̾

̷͙̱̀W̵̡̼͑a̵̫̪͗̔k̵̜̅̓e̷͎̓̕ ̸̤̓̔û̵̦p̷͖͙̈́

̸̥̦̎W̴̳̿a̵̟͌̽k̷̦̑é̷̟͖ ̶̰̬͋u̸͉̳̽͠p̵͈̽̓

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This is the first entry regarding "the hotel with no name" on Naomi's blog, but interestingly, it was not written by her.

The broken text at the end of the entry was much more extensive in the original post - it took one of our investigators nearly three minutes of continuous scrolling to reach the bottom of the web page. Some commenters claimed it had taken them upwards of ten minutes to reach the bottom. Many people seem to believe that the length of the broken text changes every time you refresh the page, but after continuous testing, we believe its length to vary between individuals, as it took each investigator the same length of time every time. We have explored the code of the web page but found nothing technical related to this phenomenon.