It was eleven p.m. I heard the sliding door open as an attractive dark haired woman in jeans and a denim jacket walked into the hotel lobby. She was eying the canisters of coffee.
"Can I have a cup," she asked with a sidelong glance at me.
I said, "sure." I was beginning to regret that she got into the lobby before it was locked. She might be one of the night wanderers that populate West Sedona streets. Most of them are well groomed but seem to have no place to sleep or they can't sleep. So they wonder on a quest for a coffee shop or an all night diner or a handout. But she made herself comfortable on the couch and began sipping the cup.
"It's not very hot, is it?," she stirred the clouds of cream in her coffee
"No, it's late. It will be morning before any fresh is brewed."
"This is nice," her eyes darted from ceiling to floor then from the glass wall to the front desk. "I like the fireplace and the couches. What are all the tables and chairs for?"
"Breakfast."
"Can I stay for breakfast?"
"Are you going to buy a room for the night?"
"If you lend me forty dollars I will," she smiled and moved toward the sliding door and walked out into the night.
"There are no forty dollar rooms here," I thought.
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