Hotel My Home

When I traveled In Europe, I organized a rendezvous with my friend John at a particular time in mid-January at a particular hotel in Amsterdam. The hotel was a family inn in a respectable part of central Amsterdam. When I got there, he had left a note stating that he had moved and had left a forwarding address. I followed the address and as I walked along a canal the environment proceeded to become seedier and seedier until it culminated into a hyper-illuminated red-light district street. Here was his new choice of hotel - the Hotel "My Home." When I knocked on its entrance, a window above me opened in an explosion of smoke and a crazy looking American girl, barely visible through the smoke and her dreadlocks, stuck her head out stating "You must be Joel!" - things went downhill from that moment.