*Boop. Boop.* The sleepy brunette extended her right arm. It landed on the phone. *Boooop. Boo-* ‘Hello you’ve reached the Palm Tree Inn and Suite... my name is Barbara how may I help you,’ she rattled off, half-slumped over the reception desk. There was no answer, just some tropical music. After ten seconds, a recorded voice clicked on. ‘Thank you, and good-bye,’ it said in measured, dulcet tones. The line went dead. ‘Hello? Hello?’ The Barb hung up. ‘Pah,’ she spat, ‘stupid recordings.’ She. The talking and giggling continued for some time after that, but I didn’t really care.Around one o’clock, I clicked off Conan O’Brien and decided to go to bed. I stopped in the living room and looked out the front window at the snow. The neighborhood was almost unrecognizable. The road had not been plowed yet and the neighbors’ cars were just white humps along the side of the road.I heard a noise on the stairs and turned. It was Allison, hopping down the stairs on her good leg, banister in one. More

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