|and i can be your dirty little secret
||[Jun. 29th, 2007|09:12 pm]
Bob Skeleton, Goth Detective
Cheap hotel rooms. Musty cigarette smells wafting off well worn pillows. Television; frayed power cord and only two channels. Dank and dirty carpet, once green now grey. Squeaky mattress adorned with rough blankets, wrapped in the scent of one too many occupants. Walls, sepia in tone, framed by blistering cornices. Mini bar hidden behind broken hinges; tiny drinks inadequate for oversized appetites. Heavy curtains hang from bent rods; decorated by patterns only the eighties could love. Clutter spread across the lone tabletop; gossip mags, teacups, hand held mirror, cheap lipstick and empty champagne bottles. The thrill of uncertainty and possible disclosure a potent aphrodisiac. High heels; discarded by the foot of the bed, clothes; similarly so. The Gideon bible tucked within the bedside table, blind to the commandments we break. Our transient affection reflected poorly in the dim and dusty mirror. Consolation found in grimy rooms and seas of other peoples dirty little secrets.
Your side of the bed; still warm.