The Inn of Debby

   The hotel clerk was matter-of-fact.  
   "Sorry, sir.  There's no room for you."
   "But," I protested, "there's supposed to be a spot just for me.
It's a reservation made by God."
   "Yes, I see that, but that room is occupied."
   He was so quietly efficient, so "it's-a-done-deal" about the
whole thing.  Didn't he realize I was being left out in the cold!
   "Well, who the hell is in there?"
   "A 'surfboard', sir.  A tall, blonde Swede - employed in the
banking industry I believe."
   "She gave him my spot?"  Devastation.  Humiliation.  Panic.
   "How could she do this?  Why didn't she wait for me?"  But 
clearly my words were falling on deaf ears.  I decided to circumvent 
his cold reality.  "Let me speak to Debby!"
   "Sorry, sir.  She's not speaking right now."
   "She'll speak to me, about this."
   "No, sir.  She's not speaking to anybody about anything.  She
thinks that is what's best - silence."
   His stone face was final.  My heart cracked.  I turned to leave
when the clerk called out to me.
   "Just one thing, sir.  Clearly, you are homeless.  Just how did
you plan on paying anyway?"
   I sluffed back out into the cold, reservation unkept.