Tuesday evening. Portland. Last strands of daylight at 9 pm. He stood in the doorway of his room at the Jupiter Hotel, leaning against the wall. His whole body felt slack and comfortable. The air felt like a warm bath.
Across the way a tall attractive blonde in shorts read read her smartphone. She was standing at the entrance of the Doug Fir night club.
In the nearby patio of the restaurant, a half dozen couples and groups of people sat drinking and talking on the picnic tables.
He went downstairs into the parking garage to get some maps. Later in the room, the sounds of music from the club.
He thinks about a friend he just met. He imagines a phone conversation they might have.
Later in his room, the sound of music from the club vibrates the walls. He leaves the door ajar, and without taking his shoes off he lies across the bed and watches a dance competition show on television with the sound turned down. The movement of the dancers is entertaining, but he prefers the sounds of people in the courtyard across the way.
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