The rhythmic thud of Gabe's boxing gloves meeting the punching bag reverberated through the gym, accompanied by the heavy panting of exertion. He was in a mood. And being in a mood meant that the punching bag would have to bear the brunt of it. As he landed another punch on the bag, making it shoot backwards, he sidestepped its retreat and grabbed the bottle of cold water on the side.
The gym was also well maintained. Other than running away with a year's worth of their profits, he found nothing that would show the manager in a bad light. Everything in the hotel seemed to be working like a well oiler machine. He was grateful for that but also apprehensive. Things that went your way in the beginning teneded to go badly later.
