After the hotel

February 23, 2011 § Leave a comment

It’s past noon now, though. Not really morning at all.

She’d half-woken, half-remembered where she was, and fallen back to sleep, so that when the maid knocked on the door of the hotel room and said they needed to clean, she didn’t have time for a shower.

The suitcase on wheels seemed like a good idea when she checked in, feeling like a film star at the big hotel on the corner, but now it’s catching on every uneven paving slab as she heads towards the railway station. Her head’s thumping and she reaches to feel it, finding that daft tiara still tangled in her hair. A snapshot memory of trying, and failing to pull it out last night, falling into bed and forgetting everything in a rum haze. She caught sight of herself in the lift on the way down – makeup halfway down her face an’ all. What would her mother say?

She doesn’t want to think about it. Old trainers and her turquoise trackies, that white fur coat she thought looked great against the lights and the sparkles of last night.

She looks like the evening gave her a hiding and she’d too easily given up protecting herself from its punches and its kicks.


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