the hotel

should one be listening? it is common courtesy, after all,

yet minds designed to wander, do so, through the glass

door where the waitress hoovers, reveals her scottish descent

whilst delivering our coffee and the single biscuit each. miscounted .

one left over. no one takes it. it feels like being in a hotel, she thought.

it is old. the floor slopes nicely, warm . the chairs supportive

while the sore throat slides gradually in….

sbm.

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