Quality Inn, Buffalo-Niagara International Airport.

We missed the last bus to Canada and had no way out of Buffalo until the next morning. Our only hope was to book a room at a hotel nearby and catch one of the buses in the morning. We picked the Quality Inn. Why? I don’t know. It was sketch. It smelt like sketch. We knew it was sketch. The room reeked of stale cigarettes and the covers had cigarette burns. We were too scared to sleep that night because we thought we were being eaten by bed bugs. I’m pretty sure we were eaten by bed bugs. We were a carcus for the picking, a buffet for the crowd. I would not have wanted it any other way.