In Milwaukee again this week. There’s a certain frisson of anxiety to be gleaned upon awakening in a hotel room to the sound of sirens and fire trucks pulling into the parking lot below your window. Of course, I hadn’t read the “in case of fire” instructions in the welcome manual. Maybe that’s because they’re in fine print on the reverse of the page listing phone numbers for churches and escort services. I never seem to get past that page.
I was sure the rules prohibited running out in the frozen parking lot in your underwear, so I watched out the window for awhile, but nothing happened. Never did find out why they were there.