I can't afford a room at the Great Northern, so the North Bend Motel will have to do. It's nice, clean, and though the rates are not published, it costs pretty much what it ought to. The woman in the room next to mine is smoking in her doorway, and behind her I see a bicycle and a harp, and in front of her I see no car in the parking lot, and I am wondering what that story may be, wondering whether she can carry this massive harp on a bicycle, wondering if she smokes cigarettes while riding the bicycle.
I go to the store and get a package of smoked salmon for breakfast and a box of Sierra Nevada Beer Camp beers, because hey, the mission here is to be as gamey as possible.
I wake up to the sound of lovely harp music, and as I pack my car, the harpist comes out and warns me that a little bird she's befriended is hiding under my car, and that I should coax him out before I pull away. By the time I leave, the bird is long gone.
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