Jeff Zarling - Room 408

Four, zero, eight
You arrive at 17 past 10
Same gray coat, same fountain pen
You sign a name that isn't yours, then count the numbers on the doors
I wait upstairs without a sound
Your little note is folded down
No questions when the lift arrives
That's how we keep this thing alive
Third floor
Don't look at me
Fourth floor
Let strangers see
One small bell
One second late, then you disappear
Behind 408
Room 408