May 22, 2003:
Good Friday, beachfront motel, heavy surf. A French tourist drowns off the rocks, foolishly venturing into unguarded water which is so angry-looking and so obviously treacherous that the locals can only shake their heads.
A guest is upset. "It's ok," says the lanky desk clerk, overly flippantly as it turns out. "He'll be resurrected on Sunday."
Now and then there are guests like her who announce their intentions never to return. That's ok, say the owners. They'll rent the rooms anyway.