I woke up in an elegant, yet run down little hotel room somewhere in Europe or South America. My room was in the basement, and I headed out to the semi-public bathroom. As I sat on the toilet, I studied my surroundings: an irregular white board was nailed to the wall running towards me on the left, and it was too long so it stuck out into the corridor in front of me. I briefly wondered what horrible damage or stains it was covering up, but then thought it better to think of more pleasant things. The large white tiles on the floor were chipped here and there, and the grout was a deep moldy black. Even so, the ornate shelves on the wall and the native decorations and curios gave the place a gentle charm. It was then that I noticed with some alarm a waitress standing at the far end of the hallway, and beyond her an open air kitchen: everyone could see in! Fortunately, I was wearing a towel, but when I stood up and headed out, I realized even the front part of the bathroom was completely open to the lobby. I quickly changed, as I had brought my suitcase in there, and walked briskly out, only pausing to notice a standalone bathtub filled with a dark brown liquid.

I was happy to be out with the other guests in the lobby, which had a reddish-brownish elegance of wood-paneled walls and plush carpeting. I wanted to join for breakfast, and wandered from table to table, wondering which ones were being served. There was a broad table against one wall, with two computers on one end and several menus across the rest of it. Stately semicircular chairs were tucked in, looking inviting, but I was too worried that it wasn't a true breakfast table. So I headed for the doors. Soon, I was in a large college cafeteria-like room, and I went to the buffet. I grabbed three plates: sliced pork, bacon, and pork rinds. I brought the first two plates and sat down with Fernando, who I haven't seen in years. Apparently, he had become a vegetarian and teased me about how unhealthy I was being. I went back for the last plate, and while I was getting up, Fernando called out to a blonde woman who was walking down the aisle, "Hey, your sister is amazing!" Turns out her sister is a major pop star in Europe (although Fernando is Peruvian). She smiled, then sat down at a nearby table. When I got back with my third plate, Fernando asked me if he should go over and sit down with her. I encouraged him, but first I tried a few bites of my food. For the first time in a long time in a dream, I actually ate buffet food: the sliced pork was rubbery and bland, and almost made me puke. The bacon was a little better, at least it was crispy if tasteless. Just then Fernando did what he asked, and so did several other people from the room. Oddly, as she was chatting to all of them, her pop star sister walked past and was only briefly cheered by her fans. I guessed they thought they had a better chance of spending time with her sister. I wanted to go over and tell her not to worry about Fernando since he's gay, but she didn't looked distressed so I let them be.

I headed back to my room. A maid told me that my manuscript was back from review, but not their comments. I excitedly grabbed the large beat-up white binder and fleetingly thought how odd it was that I had delivered it in a blue binder only for them to change it to this. I excitedly took the papers off the binder rings and started pulling the sheets up one by one against my chest, looking for something interesting. There were yellow highlights virtually everywhere, and my heart sank. The first set of scribbled comments were on the references list, and said things like "Wrong reference!" or "This is outdated!" I felt sad but determined.

posted by Larry at 8:57 AM