Flight Attendant Bedtime Stories

Dim lights, patterned carpet, the sound of the fan running, that old building smell, and little ol' me in this huge ass hotel bed. Alone. The heat on, yet I'm still cold. Eyes heavy from tiredness, the aching growing stronger from lack of sleep. Still trying to recover from nights before, when I had a deadhead to New York from Washington, DC. Realizing it was midnight by the time the company got me to my hotel room. I fell onto the bed, not seeing any point to change clothes because four hours later I would be shuttled back to the airport to work the flight back to DC. Thinking I could sleep the rest of the day was wishful. My 38 by 75 inches of personal space in the crashpad may only be half the size of this hotel king mattress but, for some odd reason it doesn't make me feel as lonely.