Thirty-Six Pages of Bank Receipts and the Chicago Mortgage Transfer I Finally Canceled

I got up off the bed and walked over to the desk.

The hazelnut latte had gone cold, with a film of congealed milk gathered around the plastic sip spout.

I pried off the white lid and looked down at the dark, sweet coffee sitting at the bottom.

The steam was gone, and all that remained was the flat smell of burnt milk and sugar.

I put the plastic lid down on the corner of the laminate desk beside my room key.

I picked up the paper cup, stepped over to the plastic bin by the leg of the desk, and dropped it into the hotel trash can.