stories from the road

It was not the greatest hotel.  Stains on the furniture, elevator buttons that did not work, and an odd, indistinguishable smell in the hallways were enough to convince Tracie we would be staying elsewhere on our next trip to Houston.  For me, I tend to brush off such things when the price is discounted deeply enough and they give me a free hot breakfast.

        Ah, yes.  Breakfast.  Let’s talk about the breakfast.

The potatoes were gone.  The sparse smattering of eggs was dry and tasteless.  “Hot” might qualify as false advertising.  Even to the eye, it was clear the juice was watered down.  It might have been the worst meal I’ve ever been served that did not make me physically ill.

But my story only starts here.