The Least Great Show on Earth

Greetings From Fabulous Budget Inn-Fall Church

The Sands, it ain't.

Hell, it's not even the Bates.

I'm in Northern Virginia for 24 hours to attend the wake and funeral of the mother of a very good friend. And, man, did I pick the perfect setting to hole up during this bummer of a trip.

The hotel is perched on the top of hill, and it is set way back from the main road.

Between the building and the street is a stonecutting shop, a parking lot half full of half-stripped cars bearing handwritten signs like "For Parts" and "You Tow," and a fungus-choked cement pit surrounded by a thoroughly rusted but ornate fence that I can only assume used to be a pool.

I appear to be the only guest.

If one's life really is a movie, this scene would need no dialogue. Which is as it should be. All I have to offer my friend is my presence. It's all anyone has when a loved one passes. Words fail, but life prevails. Let's hope that's enough.

R.I.P. ES. You raised one hell of a son.