“Let’s explore this dump” Mark said, polishing off his sixth Redrum Ale.
“You can’t get past the lobby, unless you’re a guest.”
“Then we’ll ACT like guests…how could they know?”

He was right. We strolled casually past the concierge and up the stairs.

We weren’t fans. We didn’t read his books. We didn’t even stop by Room 217. Instead, we headed for the bell tower and danced on the roof, drunk as lords.

Later, I was elected to drive over the pass, while Mark and Annie fooled around in the back seat.