Back from Spring Break. What a mess. All the small hotels are being leveled for big condos. The hotel I have stayed in since I was a young boy is now gone. It was the last left on Singer Island, the old Rutledge Inn. It was one of those two-storied hotels that is built around a central pool. A good diving reef sat just off the beach. There, a remora once tried to attach itself to my father's belly. He went nuts. I had never seen him afraid before. Frederick Exley used to drink at the outside bar and set one of his novels there. It was a classic. Now it is gone.
I had to find another place to stay, so I went to a hotel at a big marina. We stayed for three nights and got eaten by bedbugs. I refused to believe it, but when we came home, I looked them up. We fell asleep in the afternoon and woke up and found the little fuckers in the sheets. This is a mess. I've stayed all over the world in some pretty rough places and have never seen anything like this. I will have to write something clever about this soon. But I am not feeling clever right now, just itchy and somehow unclean.
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