Another crummy hotel. I say this to Carol when I call her, and she replies, “Good, then you know you’ve got the cheapest room in town.”

This place is much the worse for wear: chipped paint here and there, the shelf in the closet coming down, permanent stains on the bathroom floor. Hotel chains tend to treat their customers like cattle in a CAFO. My room stinks of cigarette smoke, even though it’s allegedly a non-smoking room. But obviously space must be tight, because they’ve given me a huge room with two beds (I’m paying for one), and a balcony. I can put up with the smell of cigarette smoke for the sake of the balcony. I had the sliding glass door open all night, and right now I’m sitting out on the balcony watching the traffic on I-70 at the base of the hotel, looking out over the green trees in the park on the other side of the interstate, and the bridges across the Mississippi River. I could complain about the cigarette smell, but if they moved me I’d lose the balcony.

In a short while I’ll head over to the conference center; for the moment I’m enjoying a moment of peace, sitting outside on this day of the solstice, before the craziness begins.