As I stood beneath the lukewarm spray this morning, six pairs of curtain hooks–like miniature prosthetic pirate hands–hung ominously overhead.
(Photos by Tanner Latham)
The hook holes, twelve dark eyes, stared down, and I swear I felt them inching closer. Closer.
I beg you, Great Hotel Governor, make shower curtain windows mandatory. You know what I’m talking about. That band of clear plastic near the top through which the glorious light shines.
Privacy preserved. Claustrophobia averted.