She had chartreuse streaks in her hair. A brown, camouflage jacket which obscured a dirty brown blouse, appropriate for a desk clerk in Easley. Her fingernails were partially covered with silver sparkles, faded in places, and broken and chipped in other places.
Her blue eyes projected a shade of boredom uncommon in a young woman of 25 years . . maybe a few years more, maybe a few years less. Hard to tell over the inauthentic nonchalance which obscured all her good features. She was doing her job. In South Carolina. In a cheap hotel.
And, I was checking into that cheap hotel.