Before I knew it I was paying the bill and leaving 20 percent, with nary any time to try and suss out the call girls in the room. Despite this off visit, I still love hotel bars and the promise they hold.

On the way to the elevator a busboy crossed my path in a rush. "I'm so sorry, ma'am!" he said to me, stopping to see if I was all right — you know, if the breeze he had created had hurt me or not.

Now that's more like it, I thought. Case closed. — Katy St. Clair

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