Late last night, Bernhilde and I returned to the warmth and the oversized plasma televisions of Hôtel Harlot. Footsore, train-weary, but, in my case, mighty pleased to have sighted fellow Harlots in their new habitat.
The new habitat is a triple-decker of a beast, looking down on a town best known for losing its leaves and marketing fancy household impedimenta to unwary touristhropoids.
Half of Harlot House (the half that isn't made of steel girders and corrugated iron) is made of glass, through which yours truly, who had had vague notions of nosing the grindstone while she was away, gazed incessantly either at pines
or at these guys, which, for want of more precise botanical descriptors, we'll call "trees".
Harlot House is, of course, home to Wilbur the Wonderdog, whom we see here in a rare moment of activity. He has been spending his days mostly lying on the deck, rehearsing for his future career as a solar panel. He has also been contributing enormously to the gross detached dog-hair product of Bright. It is my belief that a town that thrives by selling homemade tomato relish could easily achieve significant exports in humanely gleaned organic beagle hair.
Indeed, here is the perfect facility at nearby Wangaratta station for storing beagle hair on a commercial scale.
And speaking of scaling, here's a typical sample of Mount Buffalo, as scaled by moi, Bernhilde, Wool Spaniel & co.
We are the champignons.
Here endeth the essay. More soon on Adventures with Plasma Tellies.