We arrived at the plastic surgeon’s office in Miami. Ron had tricep implants and the left one had ruptured. I came along as Ron’s lawyer to take the surgeon’s statement with hopes of identifying the cause of the rupture.
By the time we got out of the doctor’s office, evening was setting in. Ron had arranged reservations at a small chic hotel, art deco, as it were, which was only a few blocks away. After checking in and dropping off my bag in my assigned room, I went down to the lounge for a drink. I didn’t notice, at first, but there weren’t any women around.
I had a couple of beers and a sandwich at the bar, then left for a balmy walk around the area. It always feels so good when arriving at a humid coast from dry West Texas. The air heals the skin, and the sinuses open up. Seeing the palm trees and colorful flowers always brings thoughts of living in a place like this. I returned from my walk and ran into Ron in the foyer.
“Ron, I haven’t seen one woman in this hotel. What’s the deal?”
“It’s a gay hotel, Glen. I prefer staying at them when I’m traveling alone.”
Well, blow me down. I didn’t know there was such a thing. “Traveling alone?” Hell. I thought I was on this trip too.
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