Stranger Than Friction

Posted: July 30, 2012 in Uncategorized

The sheets of the bed were cool. It was a good sign. I fastened the straps on the front of my bathrobe, checking for maximum tightness, and only after running one last hand from my freshly washed hair did I flop onto the mattress, bouncing maybe a half of an inch before settling into the thick softness.

One day, that’s all I deserve.

The hotel room was quiet, save for the rattle of the air conditioner, and it smelled in a way that said sleeping was permitted, but no man would ever live within these four walls. I was okay with that. I wasn’t the man who would be sleeping on these sheets tonight anyway.

Should I call for a pizza? An escort? Harass the concierge? No, it was still and quiet and that was enough.

Glancing out through the crack in the heavy, flame-retardant drapes, I could spy the lights of distant office buildings and a freeway overpass in the distance. The occasional plane crawled through my field of vision before disappearing from behind the right curtain to behind the left one. There was a magazine of HBO movie listing on the stand next to the bed, but I wasn’t interested in George Clooney’s latest Oscar-grabber. I never have been.

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