The Ramada on Shaw

On Saturday morning in the courtyard,  the plaza off the conference room looks different. Mylar helium balloons in gold and black are tied by long ribbons to the metal railing by the swimming pool. Gone are the nametag brigades of faux flight attendants and pink-and-black copper-haired Latina. Instead a woman in a shimmering purple dress is walking around the plaza. Her hair is made up. She seems in anticipation of an event.

On the way up the stairs through the concrete steps, I I notice the roses growing underneath for the first time. My eye was ready to see them at last.