Hotel Monterey

Hotel Monterey ★★★★

It's a trashy place, a worn-down, down-trodden, disheveled dump of a place. When's the last time the windows have been washed, the carpet cleaned or anything dusted? There's cracks in the walls and water damage in the ceiling, but that's perhaps beyond what can be done for now. It's such a lonely place, an empty place, when it should be warm and pleasant and comfortable.

But somehow it's still comfort-ing, a reminder of before and always a part of your past, a place you used to call 'home' and still could call 'home' and maybe someday you'll buy it and renovate it and fix it all up and then call it 'home'. But even if you didn't it still holds a place in your heart: "I was once here, I lived in here." Those overhead cracks and those unwashed windows and those broken stairs were yours, are still yours, and there will always be a space for them no matter what; but only for you, only you can call them 'dirty' and 'busted' and 'grimy' the way you do because you have lived here and you say it with love.

That's home– or at least that's what returning to a past home is like.

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