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I'm driving to a hotel in New England with Douglas and some other friends. When we arrive, though, the manager says he's very sorry, but our rooms aren't ready. Can we come back later? So we aimlessly drive around, traveling through thick forests and having a picnic in a park that looks just like one in my hometown, complete with patches of yellow grass and "rustic" concrete-and-log shade shelters. Eventually we meander back to the hotel and check in.
Once we're in our room, there's a knock on the door. It's another hotel employee. He apologizes for our earlier delay and says it was his fault. He's a foot fetishist, you see, and he loves his own feet the best. He was having a photo session with his feet in our room, and he got carried away and lost track of time. To make amends for our inconvenience, he gives us $300.
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