Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Put Your Hands Up for Detroit.

Wait... I meant Denver. Don't put your hands up for Detroit. I mean, have any of you guys been there lately? That place is tragic.

I went to Denver for a cousin's wedding last week, traveling across the country by van with some family members. We set up residence in a swanky hotel, my room on the second floor while my parents stayed on the fourth.

I woke up Friday morning and decided to head upstairs to see if my parents wanted to get some breakfast. As I walked down the scarlet-carpeted hallways I noticed remnants from the night before left outside each room. Some rooms had two wine glasses on the floor and others just one, indicating a night of romance or a quiet evening alone. Others had a single plate covered by a napkin, revealing that the room's resident had indulged in an exquisite meal.

My parents' room was at the end of the hallway, and after a long trek, I arrived at their door.

Where I found this:

More like Queer's Light, am I right?

I guess my older brother was lying when he claimed I was adopted.

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