Lacie loves CJ

I’m writing this from Raleigh, N.C., where I’m visiting for the day.

I started my morning hotel routine as I usually do, with a scalding, flesh-searing, shower to help me achieve some general level of alertness.

Once I stepped out of the shower, I did a wide-eyed double take.  There was writing on the bathroom mirror.  Specifically, the steam from my shower revealed writing that had been finger swiped on there by an earlier guest.  The message?  “Lacie loves CJ.”

When I’m in a hotel room, I try not to think about the others who’ve occupied it before me.  I try not to imagine what a black light aimed at the mattress cover might reveal, or what atrocities were committed in the bathroom.  Denial is everything when you’re on the road.

But the undying love and Lacie and CJ snapped me back to reality.  What had they done in my hotel room?  Were they kids?  Adults? If they were adults, might this have been their honeymoon suite?   Regarding the latter, I sure hope not.  Room 1402 doesn’t really scream “romance.”  More like “Servicable utility.”

Like many travelers before me, I’ll be checking out of my room in a few minutes.  I’m just another hotel visitor who’s plopped his sad, tired carcass on shared linens and who’s washed his face in the mirror that Lacie and CJ once stared into.

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