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Over the summer and into the next year, the changes that Ruthie had noticed in Mike over the spring intensified after his father died. Although he rarely talked about it, she could tell that his hope for social justice and desire to understand what had happened to the US had changed into a visceral hatred of the entire political system and power structure. It was a quiet hatred, biding its time, waiting for the moment when circumstances would allow him to seek revenge. Specifically he envisioned storming corporate offices carrying a crow-bar and crushing the faces of anyone richer than himself. As Ruthie foresaw her boyfriend’s future, Mike was destined to be part of the mob that will destroy the US as we currently know it.But that was not what happened. In the end, Mike Sinclair was destined to live out a much quieter, although not necessarily happier, existence. As the semester following his father’s death passed by, Mike’s hatred was tempered by the coins he was stealing every day. I passed some worn out looking furniture where some bums were sleeping and went to the desk. The clerk was an older latino guy who seemed surprised to see me. I guess I didn't realize how out of place my youthfulness and skin color made me. I asked him how much for a room."How old are you, k**?" he asked me."I'm 25," I answered him, which, looking back on it must have seemed very funny to him because I was lucky if I looked 18 - which I was."Forty bucks," he said, pushing the register toward me. "Sign there," he said.I signed a made up name and gave him the money. He handed me a key. "Room 402 – take the elevator," he said.The elevator was really old and it had a folding cage like door that you had to close first, then the big door closed when you pushed the floor number button. It took a long time for the elevator to get to the fourth floor. I stepped out into the hallway. The lighting was really dim. I found my room and went in.The room was surprisingly large. I flicked the light.
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