Today let us write about: the hotel.
Kat and I went snowshoeing yesterday morning and had a great time. We paused on the way up so that I could take this picture looking down on snowy Osoyoos:
And here's one of the pictures I took on the trail:
Today I chopped and hauled wood down to the cabin. I am very tired, so I shall get on with my writing now.
Henri studied the room he was meant to sleep in, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. The window, despite being five floors above street level, had been barred. The bedside table was no table at all - it was merely an overturned cardboard box. Tilting his head to the left to read the words on its side, he saw that it had housed a coffee maker in a previous life.
A glance to his right rewarded him with a view of the bathroom. He looked away again before he could decide if there was more drywall or mould to be seen within.
The bed was the kicker though. It sat on the floor, too proud for a frame, with at least six springs poking through the diaphanous sheet. As if it wasn't enough on its own to dissuade him from making use of it, a family of rats had made the pillow their home.
And they were looking at him as though they were prepared to defend it.
Someone, he thought to himself as he pulled his cellphone out of his breast pocket, is getting fired over this.