"Totally bonkers," I confirmed as I followed. "You bring out the best in me. You're not carrying me over the threshold?" "I'll save that for home, if you don't mind." He inserted the key—no modern update such as a pass card here—and turned the lock. It squeaked. "Home in Quitman. Holy. Shit." The door opened on a room probably originally beige but now aged to just plain dirty. It was carpeted with thin, industrial grade indoor-outdoor carpet, worn thin and stained from untold pairs of shoes. Double beds sported mismatched spreads, one in an orange and brown wave pattern, the other a red and yellow floral pattern. Both screamed "Dollar Tree". I was pretty sure the brown plaid curtains had been in place since their original debut into the room, long before the Dollar Tree spreads took up residency. Two mismatched, scarred occasional tables topped with mismatched lamps wearing ragged shades and a few cheap western prints scattered on the walls completed the décor. Chad stood frozen in his tracks.
What do You think about War-N-Wit, Inc. - The Witch?
