A lonely bed in a foreign land, in a different place at a different time. A hotel bar scattered with transients like myself, sitting alone nursing a drink staring disinterested at the television for want of anything better to do. Not even meeting the eyes of the professionally friendly barmaid who has never seen me before and will never see me again. My rented room invaded daily by silent small women who fiercely eradicate any hint of human use, and mutely indicate their passing ministrations through the hieroglyph of a strip of paper across the toilet bowl. Nothing is left of me when I leave. The room sits silent and empty, waiting to come half-alive with the next pair of feet. August 7, 1998


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