Ordinarily, the atmosphere in the Downtown Emergency Service Centers main shelter in Seattle was just this side of chaos. During the day, men and women crowded into the community room and hung out in a narrow corridor known as the bowling alley, arguing, sleeping and jockeying for space.

At night, the clients settled into metal bunks without pillows or sheets, trying to sleep through the sounds and smells of dozens of other people all around them.

These days, though, the space is quiet. Shortly after the coronavirus pandemic began, DESC began reducing capacity, and in early March, the city moved the remaining 129 residents to an exhibition hall near the Space Needle. One month later , King County moved them to a Red Lion hotel in Renton, a suburb just southeast of Seattle. The move gave them access to real beds, private showers, and three meals a day amenities that were unimaginable before COVID-19.

For some, its the first time theyve slept in a bed, in a room with four walls and a door that locks, in years. The difference, both physically and psychologically, is profound. Staying at the shelter downtown, youre always at risk. People are stealing from you. Theres junkies shooting up by you. People just want to attack you, said Michael C., who asked HuffPost to use his first name and last initial only to protect his privacy. And here its a safe place.

Dan Williams, DESCs shelter operations manager, said that after staying in the hotel for just a week or so, Michael was unrecognizable so much so that Williams followed him down the hallway when he walked in one day, thinking he wasnt supposed to be there.

To see this individual, compared to the way that I knew him a month ago, I didnt know who he was, Williams said. His whole presentation was different. He felt comfortable to shower, because it wasnt in this group setting where anybody could blow through that door at any second.

Marcus M., another resident who asked to use his first name and last initial only, said the biggest difference is that he doesnt have to fight for space or deal with the constant threat of confrontation. He would normally sleep in the shelters day room because he found the cavernous bunk room too noisy and chaotic. In the hotel, I can lay on a queen-size bed. I can relax. I have the opportunity to work on myself, recalibrate, and have some perspective.

Across the country, local governments are engaged in a debate about the most effective way to shelter people experiencing homelessness during the pandemic. Some have moved people to larger spaces, such as rec centers and convention halls, where they can sleep farther apart in order to reduce the spread of COVID-19. Other places, including Baltimore , New Orleans and San Francisco, have also begun moving homeless people into hotels, usually focusing on those who are over 60 or have underlying health conditions that make them more vulnerable.

Its not just about whats safer. At the core of the debate is the question of cost hotels are generally more expensive than shelters and what it will mean when the pandemic is over.

Shelters have problems that extend beyond the spread of COVID-19. If it turns out that cities could have mobilized quickly to house people all along, it may be hard to justify putting people back in shelters once the immediate crisis is over.