ALEX AND THE ASHTRAY
He'd sat there for five hours, the monstera philodendron tickling
his left shoulder all the while. It wouldn't have been so bad but the
large cat kept using its pot as a litter box and about two hours ago,
the scent had started to get to him. It was all worth it, he figured.
The ash tray sat unattended now on the little round table beside him.
Keeping his eyes fixed on the desk clerk, he carefully began to unbuckle
his leather case. Just...one...more...minute and the clerk would turn
his back to put the letter the strange fat man with the long grey pony
tail was handing him into the slot. He would rethink that rather awkward
sentence phrasing later. After he had the ash tray safely tucked into his
case. Then and only then would his mental processes be free to construct
decently-phrased
thought sentences. Now he had matters of more
import to occupy his synapses. Like the priceless hotel ash tray.
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