It was springtime and it was raining, so we opened the windows and drank white rum from the bottle all day in our little double beds. Outside, the sounds of traffic and rain were like a lion's roar only...what's that? Separate beds? Yes. It was terrible too. There was a moment, early in the afternoon (I had already switched - temporarily - to black coffee from a thermos sent up from the concierge), when she waggled off the bed onto the floor between us. On her knees, her dark hair sexy in its drunken silly bedhead style, looking through dresser drawers for a deck of cards. She came up with a Bible instead, holding it in her mouth, she jumped onto my bed and pretended she was a dog, snorting and giggling, burying the Good Book deep in my covers.
But that was it. She lay exhausted across my lap for a good two seconds, staring into space and winded from laughter, before she remembered she was low on alcohol and jumped back to her bed. I hadn't planned on anything sexual, but one builds up certain hopes, y'know?
Somewhere more local, her husband was sleeping through an afternoon TBS movie, spilling microbrew all over the arm of the new chair she had picked out herself.
