Sitting at a sun-bleached table in an urban garden, notebooks and laptops spread between us, Caroline and I commiserate over recent chaos. Cars breaking down, reliable people flaking, confirmed gigs falling through . .
Dropping our bags, we free our feet from shoe prisons and survey the room. Beige walls, tan carpet, white sheets. Nice, nice, we say, patting the beds and looking for open outlets. We espy a small balcony through the slats of the window blinds and hope for a glimpse of the final rays of the day.
We swing open the back door, then fall back on our heels, blasted…