Hemingway\’s B & B

Twilight approaches, in its company a weary
spirit seeks a tear drops worth of welcomed
solace. Hands no longer able to navigate this
steering with wheel minimal visibility. I investigate
the unworthy surreptitious road to find the bed
and breakfast that holds my current reservation.

Finally, a driveway, delightful slumber only a
few kilometers in distance. What a wondrous sign
Immensely grateful to have finally arrived, not
allowing myself to take notice of my surroundings
only focused on my glorious king size bed with
a walk-in en-suite jacuzzi tub to wash away this

sense of darkness, trapped inside my own personal
oubliette. The key given to me at the front desk,
nearly breaks in the hole. I can’t believe it! For
$200.00 per night one would expect a key that
works. Clumsily searching for a light, my hands
feel the uninvited texture of dust bunnies that
coat the grooves of my finger tips. Disgusted!

I recoil my hand until I grow enough courage
to try again. Once illuminated my vision adjusts
to finally take note of my glorious suite. Oh my
great Goddess! What the hell is that? I approached
with my fire engine red stilettos still adorned
on my feet to find this tacky sea-foam green
and indigo paisley wallpaper slowly moving.

Unless the Tylenol ones I’d taken earlier to
alleviate my migraine suddenly turned into a
hallucinogenic? There, a dog eared piece
of wallpaper begging to be torn & a healthy
dose of dust & grime on the dark chocolate
brown Berber carpet. My poor shoes, I\’d
just purchased them not a day ago & now

they have a fresh blanket of god knows what
happened to this suite\’s neglected floor. Racing
back to my overnight bag, I found my large
barreled curling iron it was all that I could quickly
grab to ensure that I did not commit to touching
the questionable wallpaper with my bare fingertips.


Pleasantly consuming the glue that
once adhered this tacky patterned fabric.
Without a second thought, the stilettos
came flying off, the wallpaper once again
flat against the wall. I could hardly resist,
slice, crunch, crack poor little impaled
cockroaches find their doom as I go to

the real Hemingway to finally relish the
large, fluffy, warm bubbles I\’ve so richly

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