The devil is a man in a brown tweed suit.

I know this because I have seen him.

He dresses like an underpaid used car salesman- he wears a red striped tie, and a little gold tie-tack, with matching cufflinks, both in the shape of little pitchforks.

The tie was hanging across the back of the chair in room 333 when I cleaned it.
The cufflinks were on the bedside table. Later when I talked to Amy, the front desk clerk, she told me how disappointed he had been that we only had four floors, not six. He wanted to stay in room 666, but decided 333 was the best he could do otherwise.

I work in a second-rate hotel, next the interstate exit on the edge of the depressing remnants of a small farming town. I wear a pair of navy blue stretch pants, a blue and white striped cotton shirt with two big pockets on the front, and a small gold plastic name tag that reads Housekeeping: Jo Fury. I hate the name Jo, but the tag is too small to fit Josephine.