Extended Stay
Pancho found himself inside a strange hotel room. Strange in that he had not expected to be inside a hotel room that day. Less strange in that rampant sense of familiarity that all hotel rooms have in common.~ bed with outdated comforter
~ awkward cutains
~ bedside tables
~ Gideon Bible
~ reading Lamps
~ industrial carpet
~ phone
~ prints in garish frames
~ A/C unit sans thermostat (all hot or all cold, you pick)
in the bathroom
~ all white finish with a faux industrial flair
~ towels, washcloths, handtowels, and tiny bathmat only slightly thicker than the towels
~ one switch to operate both flourescent vanity lighting and rauciously loud exhaust fan.
A coalition of objects that infallibly come together and dazzle the viewer into the belief that they may or may not have stepped into a non-descript hotel room.
Pancho was fixed in his position in a gawdy but comfortable reclining chair. He could peer out a nearby window, but only through a sundrenched sliver. He tilted his head slightly downward in an effort to filter out some of the morning light. He could make out the scene below with just the right amount of squint and tilt. Out the window and through the flood of light Pancho saw what he thought was the neighborhood that had once been his childhood stomping ground.
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