So, you think you’re staying in a hotel with some class. It’s nice. The rooms are modern and stylish. The service is friendly. You have all the amenities of home, including a fully equipped kitchen. Just like living in a one bedroom flat (as my British pals would say). All with the added bonus of housekeeping. And a pool. And free breakfast. Not to mention a social hour every weekday evening, but you’re too whooped after work to partake. (Heck, you barely have the gumption to write, but the view of the courtyard with the meticulously landscaped area around the pool with flowering shrubs and palms is inspiring, and you place the desk just so you can look out the window and pretend you’re Ian Fleming at Goldeneye in Jamaica. Well, kinda.) It makes you forget that you’re staying in a hotel, away from family and friends, and tames the thoughts that you’ve put out your loved ones again. You almost feel a sense of normal.
Until this …
You wake up and head off to the gut-wrenching job. No time to stop for breakfast. On the stairs as you start down is an open can of Vienna sausages with a note from Big Booty Judy leading some, I guess, deliriously happy suitor to Big Booty’s room. “Almost there, sexy!” the note (didn’t come out in the pic) reads. Another can of sausages waits on the landing and at the very bottom of the stairs is a condom -- still in the wrapper -- on the floor.
Before you get to the vehicle, the cold reality sets in … Yeah.
You wake up and head off to the gut-wrenching job. No time to stop for breakfast. On the stairs as you start down is an open can of Vienna sausages with a note from Big Booty Judy leading some, I guess, deliriously happy suitor to Big Booty’s room. “Almost there, sexy!” the note (didn’t come out in the pic) reads. Another can of sausages waits on the landing and at the very bottom of the stairs is a condom -- still in the wrapper -- on the floor.
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