The Plaza Hotel
In the morning, we woke up and packed our bags. Our first and last night at The Plaza Hotel, once called “The Belle of the Southwest,” built in 1882, overlooking Old Town Plaza Park, where they’d held a summer evening concert the night we arrived.
For dinner, we had ordered pineapple pepperoni pizza from a crowded place across the street. People in New Mexico, le beau had said, disgruntled, have no concept of space. I plucked all the pineapple off my side of the pizza, polished off two slices, and saved one and a half in the ice-filled cooler.
The next morning, I took a bite out of a slice. Somehow better.
Can I have some of your pizza?
Yeah, you can have that one, I said.
We brought our bags downstairs into his truck. But the knobs were auto-lock, which meant I locked ourselves out of…
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