Four summers ago, I was in Boston, juggling a long-term relationship, a full-time job, my senior thesis, and an internship. I was exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to steal away to a romantic locale, to meet up with my indirectly aforementioned boyfriend, and to relax. The trouble was that we were poor. All we could afford were bus tickets. And a motel. In Chinatown NYC. But that didn't sour our hopes for a steamy weekend getaway. Nothing could! No, not the roach bait just inside the door, not the reception-area wood paneling that was buckling from water damage, not the autographed Henry Rollins photo in a peeling gold frame next to the sign-in desk, not even the suspicious black mold covering the entire air-conditioning unit in our "super deluxe" room. Nothing could ruin our weekend of love and relaxation! Until we pulled back the covers to reveal a blood stain on the sheets about the size of a head. Fresh.
-Jordan Ross of Brooklyn, NY
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2 comments:
I know the freaky part of this story is supposed to be finding blood in the bed...but...Henry Rollins at the check-in desk...that is truly TRULY unsettling in its bizarreness!
I know! I totally agree.
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