Or: Sleeping My Way Home for the Holidays…
Last month, I travelled home to Ohio for the holidays. I planned a slow journey to allow for visiting friends along the way. I was fortunate enough to miss the heaviest of weather coming and going, although numerous semi-trailers were less fortunate just days earlier.
Along the way, I got to indulge in an ancient habit of mine:
You see… back in the day, I tended bar at one of Phoenix’s larger dance clubs. That occupation often left me bright-eyed when everybody else in that giant sleepy town was slumbering. I built the habit of frequenting the baths after work. Some nights, I went simply to be lulled to sleep by the delightful sounds of passionate fucking; others I went to be a whore. Well, I do prefer the word ‘humanitarian’ for the record.
Last month, I revisited that curious environment. As it goes, I currently live in a town that has legislated away the possibility of a bath-house, but on the trip home to Cleveland, there are three along the way and one massive one right smack in the Heart of Rock-n-Roll… These days, I refer to the route as the Bath-House Corridor.
Aside from the obvious perks, if one can rest quickly, squeezing in fun and sleep in a combined eight hours, the cost of a room at the baths is small change compared to even the cheapest of hotels. The favorite stop on the return trip was skipped due to a last minute detour, but the slow drive on the way out included two stops with the dulcet tones of wild abandon swimming all around me as I snoozed. I even managed to order up a midnight snack, or three…
Best wishes in the new year from the Holiday Humanitarian and your KC ‘mo,