“Brings back memories of my trauma-unit days,” I said, staring at the red debacle all over the walls and floor. Vic was lucky that the last tenants at his bed-and-breakfast hadn’t decided to sue, instead opting to get their stay comped. What was left of their cat was all over the hallway leading to the rooms on the first floor.

I drove Vic over to the mom-and-pop shop I can never remember the name of. There he purchased twelve gallons of turpentine and a mop. At least, he tried to. He’d left his wallet at the B&B, so I tossed my debit card on the counter and went to start the car. He was taking a while to leave, so I texted him asking him what the deal was. “They’ve got your Visa, plus they seem to be total morons,” he replied.

I got to do the dirty work after we got back, of course, as some new customers arrived. As I toiled, sweating profusely in the humidity, they made small talk. “Don’t you worry,” I distinctly heard Vic boast. “We are the most hospitable folks in Florida!”

I wanted to ragequit so bad…