The slam of a door. Muffled voices. The slam of a door. Laughter. Water running in pipes. A toothbrush being knocked on a sink. The slam of a door. The voice of a woman calling for a companion to wait.
I've always known that a hotel is not a place to get a good night's sleep. I had hoped the bottle of champagne I had shared would allow me to block the ever present sounds of other travelers. Such was not the case.
When a door slammed for the fifth time, I threw back the crisp sheets, padded over to the window, and pulled back the drapery. The clock in front of a nearby bank showed the time to be 2:45. The roads were empty. Nothing moved outside the hotel.
And yet within the walls of the ten story structure from which I stared, people prowled in search of.....
What? I wondered. Certainly not sleep.
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