'California Dreaming' by D.E. Hardy

In the hotel window was a view of two neon signs. One said “fresh meat,” the other “bass bait,” which was bad enough, but from bed, the angle was such that each sign was partially obscured, the pair saying “eat ass” from our vantage, which would have been kind of hot if we were there for a tryst or a second honeymoon or something, but we were there because our house had burned down and this shitty hotel was what we were able to find that first night, and it was all a little too on the nose, the universe telling us to fuck off so explicitly, and tomorrow we would find it funny, but right then we didn’t have any energy for that, and so we just lay on top of the covers, our bodies tinged hot pink and acid green, and let the light bathe us.