Postcard from the Nannup Hotel

I don't know about how this bed would stack up long term, but for tonight, as well worn as I am, I have no doubt that it will suffice. The bare globe above me head is harshly bright for this hour of night, but the lamp on the desk has no matching outlet anywhere on the wall, its cord still coiled up as new. The sound of a fellow alone down the hall with a bottle and a U2 record filters in through the balcony shutters and the floor hums gently with the voices from the TV downstairs where the barmaid sits in a Dockers jersey watching the Saturday movie on free-to-air, trying not to think about seventeen points and when she'll meet her paperback prince. Two voices waft past in the corridor in debate as to if the place is haunted.

Some days I miss the city.
Some days I'd never go back.

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