My hands are all pruney from the crazy cleaning I’ve been doing and my legs are protesting the multiple trips up and down the six flights of stairs, but thank god I’m out of the hotel.
When I look at the view I had there, I tell myself that it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t—the view, I mean. It was quite nice.
The problem was, I couldn’t perch myself in the window all the time. The rest of the room was pretty much the shits.
It also overlooked the Montmartre Cemetery, which was cool. But, I swear, there were ghosts. Sometimes Milo would go bonkers, looking up at the ceiling, all over the walls, chasing invisible things across the room.
Usually though, he just parked it on those nappy hotel blankets. Those blankets were so gross. I always made sure that only the sheets touched my face.