I was in Ohio, which is not glamorous. There was an asphalt factory across the street from my hotel, which was in the vicinity of industrial parks and strip malls. The hotel itself was nice enough. There was a kitchen in the suite, which I did not use other than to store orange juice, the same purpose to which I put my kitchen at home. If I got too lonely, I could go sit in the lobby with the fat, middle-aged businessmen who huddled around the television congratulating themselves about the progress of the war.

Suffice it to say, I never became that lonely.