It’s raining. I’m in Iowa. At a hotel. When I checked in and asked the guy at the desk for a good place to eat, he said, “I like Wendy’s”. The room is a shithole. I can’t believe they put two beds in here. Covered in what appears to be comforters made from a polyester/steel wool blend. They look like I shouldn’t touch my skin to them. The wall paper looks like it came from a retirement home for blind, chaulk-wielding midgets with vertigo that bleed through there fingers and piss while they walk.

The view is of an empty parking lot that belongs to the Winegard Company across the road. At least I’m not looking at the front parking lot. Now that is an ugly parking lot. There is a nice recliner in here though. Lake Michigan blue. Soft and smooth. Made for a 5′3″ Asian woman. Lucky chair.

There is a heating unit on the wall that was produced by, “climette” which was contracted by the Super 8 Motel chain in 1986 to make 24,560 of their “zone air” units, to control the climettes in their overnight people unettes. It looks like it would kill me in my sleep if I wasn’t smart enough to crash in my car. There were mints on the pillows, but i looked at them closely, and as I suspected, they were the same mints that I left on a Pizza Hut table in 1991 after my friend Kim puked up malt liquor and Meat Lover’s in front of a family of four and me and 9 of my closest friends had to run out on our bill. I can’t eat them now. I still feel guilty. The bathroom is a rock. Iron clad, it looks like the hotel was built around it and the florescent lighting helps my face match the room. Needless to say I will not be masturbating. The towel rack could transport vehicles on an interstate and the shower curtain has seen a 400 pound woman suck 60 year old dick. This is a “non-smoking room” and still I can smell the decades of frustration and river boat casino losses sucked through the lungs of blank midwesterners who can’t bring themselves to forgive each other for not saving up to go to vegas again.

‘Everytime i say, let’s call marsh, she was a travel agent in college, you just shake your head and talk about her fat husband’

‘No, i do not’

‘Well we lose at catfish bay we might as well be in vegas is all I’m sayin’

‘Well, it ain’t like you can’t call her yourself’

‘ Oh right and be like, hey marsh, its your brother in law, help me and your sister get some cheap tickets cause I’m fuckin cheap and broke and do me a favor and go tell your mom so I can hear about how cheap i am at thanksgiving’

‘My mom already knows how cheap you are’

‘Well, shit’

I’m starting to like this room. I think I’ll take a shit in the safe.

10/04/2007
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