three hours at a holiday inn

through the thin

walls

of the holiday inn

on route one heading south

down

richmond highway

i could

hear the man coughing

in the adjacent room

while

he talked on the phone.

my vent being

his too.

the bed was hard.

the pillow a small sack

of what felt like straw

and stones.

it smelled of smoke

and urine.

ashtrays overflowed.

a picture of a revolutionary

soldier

firing a rifle

hung on the wall.

my plan was three nights

to let

things settle down back

at home, to figure out

a way.

but at two in the morning,

i got up.

grabbed my unpacked

bag by the door

and left.

my decision made.