Room service, terrible art, and questionable life choices. The anonymity of a hotel room adds… something. You tell me what.
That weird liminal space energy where the cheap art on the walls witnesses things it wasn't meant to. The semi-public aspect makes it - knowing housekeeping could knock any minute but they just don't care. Bonus points for creative use of the luggage rack or that one time someone actually got the minibar involved. Classy.