Chapter Twenty
Greydoggin’
At seven a.m. I am at the Residence Inn Front Desk. “I’m checking out.”
“Oh no,” the Front Desk Clerk feigns grief as I hand over my credit card.
When I woke up that morning, I felt antsy and did not eat as much at breakfast as I had the last two mornings. Then I had gone back up to my room to get my luggage and arrange my carry-on with the sealed Mylar bags of goodies pushed to either end, while the center of the carry-on was filled up with my make-up kit, water, snacks, a paperback, MP3 player, and travel necessities.
The Desk Clerk asks where I’m from, and when I say San Antonio, he tells me about a friend of his in Fort Worth where it’s seventy degrees. “I guess you’ll be able to put away the scarf for a while.”
“Forever. It never gets this cold in San
