Briarpatch
“Nine floors below he could just make out the First National’s time and weather sign. The time was 7:06 A.M. The temperature was 89 degrees. As he watched, the temperature clicked over to 90 degrees. Dill winced, turned from the window, and went to the phone. He dialed room service and ordered breakfast, a meal he rarely ate. He ordered two poached eggs on whole-wheat toast, bacon, and coffee.
“What kind of juice?” the woman’s voice asked.
“No juice.”
“It comes with the breakfast.”
“I don’t want any, thanks.”
“Hashbrowns or grits?”
“Neither.”
“They’re free, too.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Well,” the woman said reluctantly, “okay.”
While waiting for his breakfast, Dill showered and shaved. Because he had no choice, other than the blue funeral suit, he again put on the gray seersucker jacket and the dark-gray lightweight trousers. He noticed the overnight air-conditioned humidity had ironed most of the wrinkles out of the trousers. When dressed, Dill went to the door, opened it, and picked up the fr...ee copy of the local Tribune, fattened nicely by ads for the weekend sales.MoreLess
“What kind of juice?” the woman’s voice asked.
“No juice.”
“It comes with the breakfast.”
“I don’t want any, thanks.”
“Hashbrowns or grits?”
“Neither.”
“They’re free, too.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Well,” the woman said reluctantly, “okay.”
While waiting for his breakfast, Dill showered and shaved. Because he had no choice, other than the blue funeral suit, he again put on the gray seersucker jacket and the dark-gray lightweight trousers. He noticed the overnight air-conditioned humidity had ironed most of the wrinkles out of the trousers. When dressed, Dill went to the door, opened it, and picked up the fr...ee copy of the local Tribune, fattened nicely by ads for the weekend sales.MoreLess
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