Suki said, after we finally jammed open the door to our room. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to patronize me or make me feel better. Number eighteen was on the top floor, in a dank corner that smelled of cigarette smoke. The room looked like some monk or other had just spent his final years slowly dying here. The walls were dark wood, the floor was linoleum, and the windows were shuttered. Over the smallest double bed I’ve ever seen hung a simple and gigantic cross. I’m not particularly religious or anything, but crosses like that still weird me out a little. I sat down on the bed, and then I realized that everything was going to get much worse. “This bed is so uncomfortable.” “Hey, at least we got a room,” Suki said, undoing the window latch and pushing open the shutters. “Have you touched the bedspread?! Touch it. It’s like sandpaper.” “It can’t be that bad.” Suki leaned out the window and looked at the scene below.
