11 THIS IS MY BEACH; THIS IS YOUR DARKNESS
The stain on the ceiling kept sidetracking Bill from scrolling on his cell phone. There was a sense of offness to it he couldn’t put his finger on.
Next to him, his son slept without kicking. Noteworthy, because typically Max bucked in his sleep more than a pissed-off rodeo bull.
In the queen bed next to them, Bill’s wife and daughter also slept the sleep of the dead.
The younger couple shacked up in the room next to theirs was back at it again. Muted, but the sounds of grunts and moans were undeniable.
Fifty more bucks a night, Bill lamented, an extra fifty would’ve put us on the beach—probably wouldn’t have to listen to a couple of animals rutting through their entire weekend either.
Cheap-ass, paper-thin walls.
He traded the cell phone f
