Stone hotel, pool night

Beside the road, halfway between Smíxē and Alatópetra a grand, stone hotel, shutters drawn shut, paint on the upper floor peeling, side gate half collapsed. Carpark empty save for a forlorn looking bulldozer, I let myself in. Sunset isn’t far off. Derelict is the right kind of hotel for my budget. Firewood in the woodshed, hopscotch painted on the back terrace. Doors all locked except the outdoor utility cupboard. It’s inexplicably hot inside.

Stone pavers, exterior light fixtures, a fire hose — all missing, liberated by savvy scavengers.

Blackberry bushes have swallowed the back slope, I eat handfuls. The tennis court is cracked and the sun has almost rubbed out the tram lines. The pool is empty of water and full of trash. One step of the ladder is missing, it creaks and sways as I climb down. I’ve never slept in a pool before.