12,052 / 50,000
Done early today, since I had some time after watching tv with zilch to do, so figured I'd get a jump on it, rather than racing to be done by 5am.
The weather was still maybe a little spring like for air conditioning, but hotels liked to keep things stable, and with everyone coming into the city for the convention, the crowds would surely make things all the warmer. It was also much warmer just being in Boston than back in Kraftsbury by a good five or ten degrees. The forecast predicted it would be even warmer over the weekend.
I looked around and saw we managed to get two beds this year, unlike last year. It was always a crapshoot each year whether or not it happened. Fortunately the big chair near the window on the opposite wall from where I stood was comfortable enough.
Across from where I was, I could see out the window which made up the entire far wall, giving me yet another view of the city, off to the west. The sun was just visible inbetween a canyon of skyscrapers from my room, just barely reaching the horizon. Ore more accurately, the buildings on the horizon. There was still a good hour or two of daylight left.
I glanced into the bathroom door just off to my right as the heavy door closed behind me with a thud that could be felt as well as heard, and the lock clicked shut. The sink was a marbled grey shade, resembling a piece of stone, and the rest of the room was white, with metallic accents everywhere, glimmering as I turned the light on. The usual towels and soaps were set out for the guests, everything neatly arranged and waiting. As expected with a hotel of this caliber, everything was perfectly spotless and neat, looking as if I was the first person who had ever stayed here.
That was something that always put me off about hotels. Hundreds of people stayed in any given room over the course of a year, or even less time, and every trace of their existence was removed every day. It was always disconcerting to know a place had history, and see no evidence of it. For someone who wanted to know things, hotel rooms were a bit of a headache, since they could hide so many secrets.
The rest of the room was decorated with the usual bland, mass produced paintings, although they were nice for what they were. One on the wall opposite the window, between where the beds were and the bathroom, was a landscape, painted in dull colours of a sepia-toned field. Over the bed was an abstract work, with blotches, lines, and cubes. It may as well have been done by someone in kindergarten, although I'm sure someone would come in and find deep, significant meaning in it.
Between the twin beds was a night table, which I'm sure had a bible inside it, and the usual lamps and phone, as well as guidebooks for the hotel itself, and important numbers. The beds themselves were covered in orange-yellow blankets, soft to the touch, and the head of the beds were buried in large, fluffy pillows. That little part in the back of my head that remained a child, after all, I still read comicbooks, wanted to build a fort with them the moment I saw them.
The chair, of which similar varieties I had grown accustommed to sleeping in when the need arose, sat between the glass wall and the bed, at an angle, and a round table between those. It's dark orange fabric blending in well with the dusky sunlight starting to dominate the sky.
The table's lone leg, which branched out into several feet at the floor, continued above the table and into a lamp at the top of it, almost taller than I was. Which for someone not quite close to six feet tall, isn't exactly a difficult feat. Another folder containing more information on the hotel, and some stationary, sat upright on that table, fanned open to stay that way.
To the left, against the wall and near the window, was a desk where I set down my laptop back, and tossed my backpack through the air onto the bed nearest the window, claiming it as my own. It had my camera, but the distance was short, and would be fine. Next to the desk, circling back towards the foyer, was a set of drawers, with a television atop that. I'd heard the Herriott was rolling out some HDTVs in certain hotels and rooms, but it looks like they had yet to reach their Bostom franchise, as an old, giant box of a tv rested atop the dark wooden grain of the bureau. Knowing from past years, I poked the right side of the drawers, and rather than actual drawers, I pulled open a door that had been made to resemble the matching ones on the left, complete with three metal handles, and revealed a safe with a digital lock inside. I'd never had any luck getting those things to open properly, so had stopped bothering, and aside from my laptop, I had no real valuables that got left in the room. If anyone really wanted to steal my hardcover collection of Phoenix: Endsong I brought to get signed by the artist, more power to them.
On the wall behind the tv hung an oval mirror, reflecting everything I could see again, especially the splotchy painting over the bed. I shook my head and tugged off my black trenchcoat and tossed that on top of the backpack. I stretched and adjusted my dark blue t-shirt with a dragon fighting a phoenix printed on it.
After dragging my luggage to some space between the round table by the chair, and the bed, I pulled out the laptop, and took a few minutes to get it set up on the hotel's network, and secured to protect myself from anyone being mischievous with open connections. Call me overly cautious, but I didn't like anyone accidentally stumbling across my connection and grabbing a password or two. Better to be safe than sorry, even if it involved a complicated series of actions that bounced my connection through Vermont and back.
Once I'd gotten registered and online, adding a few extra dollars to the cost of the room, I headed straight for the airline Chris was taking out of Canada, and found his flight was running a little late, and was schedule to land in an hour. Knowing that it took just about that long to get to Logan Airport through the subway, I figured I may as well go and meet my friend as he got off the plane. Well, as he got his luggage, since that was the closest I'd be getting to any terminals without a ticket.
I could have gotten there with equal ease with my car, but I was paid through the weekend for my spot, didn't have to worry about losing a spot while I was gone, and the subway beat out all the traffic on the way there. As long as the train didn't derail somewhere, I could make it there in plenty of time. Going by car risked rush hour traffic, which in Boston is enough to drive anyone to road rage. It was better to stick with the sure thing.
Closing the lid of the laptop as it powered down, I brushed off some random flecks of dust that had accumulated on the lid while it had been sitting around my house unused for a few weeks. I smiled down at the arguably protective covering I'd gotten to put over the lid, that served more to personalise it than any actual protection, although I suppose the sticker of flames probably held some scratches at bay, it was really just something pretty I paid extra for that made the computer more mine.
I got myself back down to ground level pretty quickly, making sure I had my keycard safely stashed in my wallet as being locked out of the room due to my own stupidity once in my lifetime was more than enough, and opted to leave the trenchcoat behind since it was warmer than usual that day.
Outside the main Herriott hotel were two other towers, for other purposes I'd never quite figured out. They each flanked the sides of the entry driveway which was bustling with cars and people, as people parked and had the valets whisk their vehicles off into the distance. In the center of the U-shaped drive, sat a large fountin, all black stone, which was running most of the time, but was shut off at the moment.
I made my way towards the tower to my left as I exited the hotel, and pushed through the large revolving door, needing to give the glass and shimmering brass panel a bit of a shove to get it moving.
Once inside, I was surrounded by white marble, etched with dark grey veins. It tiled the floors, covered the walls, and was even made into several pillars throughout the elaborate lobby. Large elevators with brass doors reflecting the large bright, lights high overhead marked each corner of the lobby, and the center was yet another escalator going downwards into the earth, and behind that, at the back of the room was an information desk, with directions to various other places. There was a direct connection through some hallways back to the hotel, but I had opted to take the scenic route.
I took the escalator down and found the tunnel that lead directly to the subway. By direct, I mean about a five minute walk. The subway was far enough that the hotels weren't sitting right atop them even with their several floors underground, and rumbling at all hours of the day and night, but close enough that they were still convenient for hotel-goers, if they didn't mind a quick little hike through a large, well-lit tunnel, with the occasional mural painted along the walls.
I got to a bank of machines and ordered a few passes, one for my trip out to the airport, one back, and one for Chris, to save him the trouble of having to get it himself, and digging out change.
It wasn't long before I was on the train and rumbling along underground, with brief spots of sunlight as the train surfaced here and there as Boston moved around us in its rare bits of hills and valleys.
As I figured, I got to the airport about 45 minutes after leaving my hotel room, and made my way inside, and found my way towards where the terminals entered the main area. Being the start of a holiday weekend, as well as people coming in for the convention I'm sure, the place was pretty busy. Monitors hung everywhere displaying flight times, and I could see Chris' plane had just landed. Finding some security, I got some directions to where his flight would be letting out, and made my way towards their concourse, at least as close as I could get.
Being early evening by the time I got there, it was like rush hour for planes, as it always seemed to be the time when most people managed to arrive for anything. Most any flight I'd ever taken always seemed to land between 4 and 6 pm, unless I tried with some effort to do otherwise.
I made my way through the crowd, getting an early start on my excuse mes and coming throughs that I'd be putting to good effect all weekend long, pausing only occasionally to check the overhead signs guiding me through the veritable maze of corridors and walkways.
All the while as I neared where Chris should be coming out, I kept an eye out for him, since he may have already made it off the plane, and was heading to get his bags and leave. Some day, I may actually invest in a cellphone, but they never worked at my house in Vermont, so had yet to really even look into it much.
Fortunately, it appeared I had gotten there just in time, for as I walked up the last little bit I could before security would have intervened, there came Chris around the corner, exiting a restroom if I was guessing what I was looking at correctly.