To Denver

by Jason Masino (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find USA

My flight from Los Angeles to Denver gets in at midnight. It’s the third day of January, and the sudden shift from the upper 60’s to lower 30’s is physically painful. I run downstairs to my luggage, outside to my Lyft, and towards the Motel 6 half an hour away. It’s dark yet comforting. Christmas lights are still hanging. A lake is completely frozen. I was in Denver for ten days. A friend was flying in a few days after me and invited me to stay over at her Airbnb. “Sure,” I said. I chose Motel 6 for economic reasons, and it was mostly fine. However, I draw the line at doors to the street that don’t close all the way. I checked out early and headed over to my friend’s rented pad. * Mariah Carey and her holiday spirit fill this home. Even though it’s towards the back of the living room, the tiny plastic tree in the window-nook is spun with some very 90’s decorations; shiny blues, silver, and magenta. The house is old. There is a quiet cold dancing in the air. My friend calls me over - “You should dance on the stage!” Yes, a stage - next to the drum kit and multiple speakers and microphones scattered throughout. It’s made of a shag-like carpet and garnished by a stripper pole in the middle. I check in with my core and decide to give it a shot. “Alexa - play some music!” Bumm. Bumm. Bumm. Followed by the milk & honey of Rihanna’s vocals. I stayed over for a few days. I had dinner at the sushi restaurant next door. I walked up and down the neighboring streets filled with hipsters and folks dressed up like cowboys. I passed by a café filled with roaming cats that cost $10 to get in. I bought some books at Book Bar, a place where you can buy books and enjoy a glass of wine at the same time. The streets were wet from the snow, like the nighttime scenes in Home Alone. Christmas lights were still hanging. * I needed some alone time. I felt like I was intruding, and my friend was expecting six additional people in the upcoming hours. I had a few days left on my trip and decided to spend it alone and in style. I check into a four-star hotel, the Warwick, in downtown Denver. The main entrance is covered in white Christmas lights. I check into my room and draw a bath. I ask Siri to play Chopin. I sink into the bubbles, hold my breath, and return to the surface. I’m hungry and thirsty, but $3 cans of Coke and $15 bags of trail mix are not going to cut it. From 12 to 1 and then – ding! – the elevator lands. I walk around the corner, my black boots squeaking on the polished marble floors, and approach the entrance of the downstairs restaurant bar. I seat myself at the side of the bar and order a glass of red with some water. I start with a salad - simple, with fresh greens, creamy, crumbly goat cheese, and a slightly sweet vinaigrette. I follow up with two slightly fried, very delectable pieces of chicken; a wing and a thigh. Salt, pepper, garlic – simple. Carrots and potatoes, slightly roasted – a tasty array of orange, purple, and tan. I can taste the care that went into this meal. I balance my excitement with another glass of red and top it all off with a tiny bowl of vanilla ice cream. I spend the remaining days reading, eating, watching the wind, watching the night. I iron my clothes. I listen to more Chopin. I finish a few books. I finish some writing. I finish my ten-day excursion. My flight leaves tomorrow in the morning. I walk around the block and try to absorb as much as I can before heading back to sunny Los Angeles. I pass dogs, their walkers, and people on bikes. I head back to the entrance of the hotel for the last time. The Christmas lights were hanging.