April 9, 2017:

Sugar couple at the hotel bar.

She's thin, black-haired, pretty. Before his arrival she's gregarious, chatting happily with the bartender. He's tubby, slack, long patchy gray hair slicked back to a duckbill, dark tinted glasses like the ones blind people wear. From the moment of his arrival she's silent, awaiting his cues, speaking only in replies. He's in charge, that's their world, and that's that.

He's unhappy in public. He's both surly and petulant. Two minutes on a barstool and they're off together to the elevators, up to their room.

I don't even want to think about what happens there.