My current situation reminds me of the Police song, "Man in a Suitcase."
The room's my oyster
My hotel room's a prison cell
I'm getting a little tired of fast food and the hotel's morning offerings of various unsavory and unhealthy food choices. I went to the gym today in a vain attempt to turn the tide, to try to work off some of the cholesterol that's been injected into my bloodstream one cheeseburger at time. I move into an efficiency apartment Saturday where I can at least cook for myself. Instead of high fat fast food, I'll risk the occasion bout with food poisoning that comes with my cooking adventures.
I'm getting hungy. McDonalds is starting to sound good right about now.