After coming in out of the rain I check in leave it to the porter to take my bags up to free myself up head to the bar for a stiff drink to dry myself...off. The bar is quiet and the atmosphere non-existant. I order my Jack and coke and sit at the bar in almost stone silence but for the soft jazz music playing for ambience catching my reflection in the bar's mirror every now and then. After four drinks in the dead bar I begin to hear people enter the foyer and either head to their room or. Once there I sought out the locale of my philanthropic efforts: the Dystrophied Arms Retirement Home and Mausoleum. My hopes for riches were dashed but I kept a stiff-upper-lip. A Granny Clampett wannabe answered the door then guided me into her "courting parlor" where she introduced me to her two GILF friends, Dora and May. They had an antiquated hookah on the coffee table inspiring my hopes for a jovial afternoon.They all three seemed depressed. I don't know if it was a lack of sex or gossip. More

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