A note from Colorado
Looking in the mirror I see a man with short greying hair, a smirk, and maybe a bit too thin, but with a nice ass.
Hank Williams is crying on the radio in the background that “son - of - a - gun we’re gonna’ have some fun”.
I give a little snort, and I turn away from the mirror to look at the hotel room.
There are wet foot prints on the dark rug; foot powder sprinkled here and there; on an unused bed, luggage is neatly packed; there is also an unmade bed with wrinkled sheets; there is a too small coffee pot with less than a cup of brown left in it.
I sigh. Then I finish getting dressed. Looking through a third floor window, I see Denver Colorado getting a drizzle of misty rain from a gray sky. I slowly close the curtain against another day.
I walk to the door of the room, open it, and reach down to pick up the newspaper. I look at the headlines. Bold type about nothing I can relate to.
I look to the room next to mine. Hanging on the door handle is a privacy notice asking the maids to stay away.
I take it off the door handle and put it on mine. Then I go back into my room, and I shut my door wondering if homeland security will steal the maids away before they get a chance to disturb my neighbor.
- -
Okay for now,
Father Luke
