"The All Inn is the only all-in-one inn for one and all! You can find it all in the all inn! Let's get you checked in!"

            Myles waved politely back at the concierge behind the counter. It was probably the concierge. It was behind the counter. Its face was distinctly human shaped, but the blue light emitted from the monitor that seemed to rap around its glass head, and its long mechanical claws which gently tapped on the keyboard in front of it suggested perhaps it was not in fact human. Regardless, it had been a while since anyone waved to him, so the interaction was not unwelcome. Besides, it was hardly the entity most foreign to Myles in the room. The bright pink fur coated giants, the family of finely-dressed floating rocks, and the many, many, legged eel spinning in circles around one of the lobbies pillars, all stuck out to Myles as significantly stranger than the concierge just to name a few.

            Even the design of the lobby itself seemed to have wandered out of an absurd portrait. Tall marble pillars here, yarn chairs there, a dimly lit aquarium on one side, and on the opposite wall what appeared to be something akin to the seating of a movie theater facing the door in, which itself now appeared to be radiating light. It looked exactly as advertised on the brochure. By the time Myles walked over to the concierge his questions about the contents of the room had nearly doubled.

            "Myles Walker?" asked the concierge.

            "Huh? Oh uh, yes. That's me," Myles replied.

            "Let's see, you're coming from Ear-th, is that correct?"

            "Earth? Yeah," said Myles.

            "My apologies," said the concierge, "Before we can get you checked in, there are a few terms and conditions that we'd like you to sign off on. Just the usual disclaimers so you don't try and take us to court or something. Not that you likely would, or can't, really this part of the check in process is tradition, part of the All Inn experience. You understand. Just sign at the bottom once you've read it."

 

            Myles squinted at the stack of paper, which at first seemed to contain nothing more than a bunch of scribbles, until the scribbles began to move into the form of letters he could recognize. It read,

            "By signing below you acknowledge that we at the All Inn are not responsible for any distress or harm to our guests caused by themselves or other guests including, accidents, injuries, technological implants, spells, a sudden and enduring sense of existential ennui, death, resurrection, allergic reactions, consequences of time travel, ingestion of non-consumable foods, interactions with higher, lower, or beyond dimensional entities, loss of soul, loss of body, loss of mind, loss of hair..."

 

            The list continued for another sixteen pages. Surprisingly short all things considered. Myles made his way to the bottom of the stack and signed on the line. Myles figured it was about time to ask, "So am I like dead? Is this like, heaven, or purgatory, or hell or something? Because none of this makes sense, one minute I'm sleeping on the sidewalk, then a pigeon drops a brochure with a key card in it on me, and then a door to a hotel appears in the middle of the street."

 

            The concierge thought about it for a second, scratching its chin with one mechanical claw, before responding, "Dead. Dead is when your organs stop? When you are forgotten? When you leave your plane? You are still on your plane, though I guess technically you're on all of them. None of those things have happened anyway, so no. You are not dead. You are at the All Inn."

            Myles took a sigh of relief. He wasn't dead yet. The concierge continued,

            "Though if you want to go to Hell, it's through the hall, and then once you go past the Rest Room, that's the room for resting, not a bathroom, the stairs will be at the end of the corridor to the left. You can also take the elevator, if you prefer, but it's recommended to take the stairs if you want the whole Hell experience."

 

            Myles shook his head and replied, "No, I don't want to go to hell. Why would anyone want to go to hell?"

 

            The concierge shrugged, "I don't know. I've never been. Between you and me there are a lot of places I'd rather visit. Though I imagine it would be worth checking out if you were curious about it."

 

            That made sense to Myles, so he decided not to pursue that topic further. He'd been absorbing so much information he almost forgot why he chose to wander through the door in the first place.

 

            "Wait, if anything can be found here, is Rachel here? Rachel Gold?" asked Myles with sudden urgency.

 

            "You ought to be more specific if you are looking for a particular person, but everything is here somewhere. Though, if this Rachel is important to you, I suggest tidying up before going to see them." said the concierge. It occurred to Myles that the concierge was probably right. He hadn't properly showered since he got evicted out of the apartment, he had grown a beard which had become an overgrown tangled bush, and his only remaining clothes, the ones he was wearing, had taken quite a beating. If Rachel saw him like this, she'd almost certainly berate him for not taking proper care of himself, if she even recognized him at all.

            

            "Is there any way I can tidy up all at once?" asked Myles.

            "We've got a machine that can do that, yeah," said the concierge.

            "You do?" asked Myles.

            "I already told you—"

            "Right, right, you have it all."

             The concierge handed Myles a machine with only one button. Myles pressed the button, and his clothes were immediately repaired, his beard was trimmed, and his everything felt clean.

            "Okay. Now it's time to go see Rachel," said Myles.

The concierge nodded and suddenly the world disappeared. Every way Michael looked, all he could see was an endless cloud of white. What was he standing on? Where was he?

            Then she appeared in front of him. How could she be here? She had died. She had died of pancreatic cancer.

            "Myles? Myles is that you?" Asked Rachel. Myles eyes began to blur. He touched his cheek and realized it was wet.

            "Rachel? Rachel why do you have hair?" Asked Myles.

            "I'm allowed to have hair, silly," said Rachel.

            "Yes, yes, of course. My bad," said Myles.

            "You got all cleaned up," said Rachel.

            "I wanted to look nice," said Myles.

            "Well so did I," said Rachel.

            "But you died!" Exclaimed Myles.

            "And YOU said you were going to look after yourself!" Countered Rachel.

            "I tried. I really did try. But with the hospital bills, and then the layoffs, and then the eviction—"

            "Oh. Hey. Hey. It's okay. You did your best. I know you did." Rachel hugged Myles.

            "I'm not dead by the way. So it doesn't count," Myles said through tears.

            "Does too. I had to send you a bird, so you would come see me. It does too count," Rachel laughed, beginning to cry herself. Myles gave her a kiss on the cheek. Rachel gave Myles back a kiss on the lips.

            The pair held each other up for a long while.

            

            "Where do you want to go now?" asked Rachel.

            "Anywhere as long as I'm with you," said Myles.