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She loved hotel beds because she didn’t have to make them or launder the sheets. Instead, the sinful pleasure of crawling in between crisp sheets topped with a white duvet in the afternoon, air conditioning whirring, dark curtains shutting out heavy sun, for an indulgent nap. In a way, she supposed she was running away from home and what home means—comfort, yes, but work and responsibility and phone calls and computers and the internet. Sex? Well, yes, she supposes, if all that bother is important to her husband. For her, a nap in an anonymous bed is sufficient.

 

 

 

SuzAnne C. Cole, Stanford MA, former college English instructor, writes in the Texas Hill Country. Her flash fiction has been published in anthologies and magazines including The World’s Best Shortest Stories, has been listed on The Best of the Web del Sol, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize.

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