Linen drapes in this old hotel room

I moved in on Thursday and began to sink deeper into the city immediately. Couldn't help it, except by walking myself silly. Those are the pantlegs I wore last night along Howe to catch Vertigo at the Pacific Cinemateque. This is the pile of books I left behind, cluster of empty Stellas minus the one I smuggled into the reading, too cheap to pay eight bucks a pop. One more cache of coins, enough to get me to the airport three hours from now, adds up to $2.50. I've been working on puzzles, I guess, because I can see the empty squares next to the garbage can by the bathroom. Sticking out the bottom of the armoire: a tuft of shirt I wore yesterday morning and afternoon taking K. down to Granville Island, chatting up Grover Covington, the CFL Hall-of Famer, whose bus #19 took us there. This city has taken me, all right.