Four massive slices of bacon dispelled any remaining anxieties that he had overpaid for this hotel. The plate is just small enough to let the edges of his meal hang over the table. Eric had to remind himself that he was meant to appreciate food with his mouth, as well as his eyes. He and his meal sat together in a cavernous dining room without a wall in sight that wasn’t glass. This is what a nice hotel is, he thought, where you can tell what time of day it is just by having your eyes open. The so-labelled luxury in Boston was barely lit. Each room had multiple windows only to wear blackout curtains. What use did such a window serve, exactly?
“Is it not to your liking, sir?”
Eric looked down at only one of his marvellous precious massive bacon slices missing, and his less massive, less marvellous, but equally precious omelet as pristine as when it was served.
“No, no, no. I mean yes. I mean it’s good. Really good.”
It was.
“Maybe jet lag?” said Eric with real curiosity. “You know, 18-hour flight. So long,”
The cheerful dining room attendant pulled off a nod that somehow neither agreed nor disagreed. Does jet lag even affect appetite? Well whatever, it was something to say. Maybe he was so eager to go to the beach that he couldn’t do anything else. Like a child, he thought.
Wesley Mattson Writes 
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