Chanel’s Mattress Bag
I live in the Mission District of San Francisco where there is a great concentration of fleabag hotels. I’ve never stayed in one, but I’ve imagined them in my mind as I walk by them in the morning on my way to the subway. The rooms, I’d imagined, were filled with threadbare furniture and stains of all sorts. I also imagined smack in the middle of the room a bed that looks somewhat like this bag from Chanel: a dirty, ragged, unshapely mess resembling a rectangle. Let’s not lie, though. There is something about the rawness of it all that gives me an instant erection. This bag is a mixture of prostitution, dirty sex, and a rainy night on a streetcorner mixed with just a hint of Hampton shabby chic.