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The More The Better

The manager was a nice and malleable fellow of about twenty-eight. Seeing the poor exhausted girl he just couldn't refuse that gentle creature.
            "Here's the key, guys. Room number 210."
            "Thanks buddy, we really appreciate this," said Harut. In a second he felt as if something struck him. "Room number two-ten," sounded in Harut's ears, "two-ten." This combination was too familiar to him, but he couldn't remember from where.
            They took the key and went upstairs to see the room.

***

As they went up the stairs Harut's mind started to refresh its hard drive searching for valuable information in his memory's archive folders. Bingo! Of course, he remembered the place: it was that same room! No kidding! He remembered everything as vividly as the real life is...
… It was last year. He and Hakob had girlfriends from Russia, who lived in this same motel, in this same room. They used to go out together quite often; Harut with Nadya and Hakob with Lyuba. One day Harut and Hakob had wonderful plans for the night: they had reserved a table in the city's best restaurant. They had hired a limousine, a very long and luxurious one, Lincoln Superstretch, to take the girls to the restaurant.

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